Goblins at the Gate
by Mad Shelley
Summary: Sarah is navigating life as a young professional, plagued by strange dreams and items disappearing from her apartment. She thinks the dreams are how her mind copes with the fact that the Labyrinth was real. A certain fae enjoys tormenting Sarah after his defeat.
1. History Rhymes

**Disclaimer:** I'm doing this for artistic expression and fun. I'm not making any money from this, or pretty much anything else. I do not own anything related to Jim Henson's Labyrinth; I do own this tablet, a Café du Monde coffee mug, an old Trek bicycle, and the idea for this story. Please don't take them away.

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" _History doesn't repeat itself, but it does rhyme." – Mark Twain_

Sarah balanced her coffee cup precariously between her black stocking-covered knees as she pulled her long, dark tresses away from her face and flipped them into a make-do ponytail. She then carefully retrieved her coffee with both hands, leaned back in the uncomfortable subway seat bringing the cup towards her face, and inhaled the heavenly scent of the "go-juice", as she called it. She'd had another ridiculous, crazy dream last night that woke her several times, grasping her sheets to maintain a hold on reality, and finally reaching for her anti-anxiety medication.

In the dream, she's been clothed in layers of rags, and was running through alleys of the city looking for someone, though she couldn't remember who it was. She remembered feeling an urgent and overwhelming need to find the person, treading through rat droppings and wading through trash in her search. Every turn and corner seemed to be darker, more threatening, and more unworldly. Voices around her encouraged her to turn back, whispering "don't go that way… never go that way… you will never find him." She awoke several times after dreaming of being enveloped by complete darkness, or falling off of a building, flailing her arms uselessly, her heart beating as if she'd run a marathon.

She shook her head and began sipping her coffee in an attempt to dispel her memories of the dream, admonishing herself silently; "Get a grip, Williams! Women your age do not allow themselves to be controlled by ridiculous dreams!"

Sarah mused at the colors on the subway map above the doors as she reflected on her recent promotion to from Associate Curator to a Curator at the museum. That should have happened when she was twenty-two or twenty-three. At twenty-seven, she had spent several years as an Associate Curator even after getting her Master's degree and working on countless exhibitions and programs, some even overseas. It was a slap in the face. She partly blamed the mysterious dreams and strange occurrences over the past twelve years that seemed to eat away at her strength and drive. Her father had called it her "ferociousness." She snorted indelicately at the thought. She could be ferocious when she needed to be; for example, when items were not being packed correctly for shipment to another museum, or when Karen tried to belittle her career choice.

The subway ground to a halt at the next platform more abruptly than she'd expected, sending Sarah swaying ungracefully into the man seated next to her, nearly knocking his book from his hands. She scrambled to hold on to her coffee, turned to offer a polite apology, and found herself staring up at chiseled facial features and a shock of wild, blond hair. Sarah felt a sharp intake of breath at the similarity of the man's appearance to a certain tyrannical fae being who had once challenged her, made her face her own weaknesses, completely incensed her, and now terrified her when she so much as thought of him. She then noted that the man's eyes were bright blue, unlike the strange mismatched eyes of the fae. The man also appeared to be older than the mystical king, deep lines creasing the areas around his mouth and eyes. He also sported a common business suit, and his hair, though unruly, was cut above his neckline.

Sarah sighed in relief, mumbled and apology, and began gathering her belongings in preparation for exiting at the next stop. "PTSD much, Sarah?" she thought to herself. The blond-headed man in the business suit grimaced at Sarah and turned back to his book. As Sarah shifted in the packed subway car to grab hold of an available spot on a pole near the doors, she missed seeing the man's grimace morph into a smirk, one eye dilate to a near chocolate-brown appearance, and the creases and wrinkles in the man's face fade from sight.

It was never a question for her as to whether or not her run in the Labyrinth had happened. She knew it had been real, which was probably some of the stress she had been fighting since she returned from her magic-filled adventure. At some point, though she couldn't recall when, she had stopped calling on her friends in the mirror. At **some** **point** , she became afraid to admit what had happened, knowing that no one would believe her, knowing that she would **never** be able to fully share that experience with anyone in her world, except as concocted bed-time stories she would relate to Toby when he was small.

Sarah plopped down clumsily in her office chair as she began divesting herself of her coffee and bags. Her hands shook slightly as she continued to think about the man on the subway and to remember her dream from last night. It wasn't just the dreams that had plagued her on and off. Strange things would happen on occasion that defied logical explanation. She would hear a voice whisper her name, and a soft wind brush by her cheek when she was at home with all of the windows closed. Various small objects along with articles of clothing would disappear, never to be seen again – a pencil sharpener, a cell-phone charger, and her favorite bra. She would hear muffled giggling in the apartment, and caught herself running into other rooms and sliding across the wood floors to catch the mysterious giggler under a bed or a table, but she never could identify the source. She had even moved to a small (ridiculously tiny) apartment in another borough, thinking her roommates were the culprits. Sarah hid her face in her hands as she felt that awful, all-consuming, "freezing" sensation that meant she was about to have… a panic attack.

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In another dimension, a tall, fair, slim being stood at a large, arched stone window, surveying his kingdom with an air of possessiveness. A light breeze stirred a sliver of hair from in front of his face to reveal narrowed, mismatched eyes displaying a glint of mischief, and something else that might be called cruelty. The being crossed his arms in a gesture of self-importance as the right corner of his thin lips drew up into a smirk. "Hello again, Sarah….. how are you enjoying my dreams?"


	2. All the Nightmares Came Today

**Disclaimer:** Still not making any money from this. Still don't own anything related to the Labyrinth – can't even find my old CD. Found a nice pen on the train – adding that the things I own. Please don't sue.

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" _All the nightmares came today, and it looks as if they're here to stay."  
– Oh, You Pretty Things, David Bowie_

After trudging up the building steps with bags in tow, Sarah spotted a neighbor she knew fairly well. A friendly face was always a welcome sight, especially after the day she'd had. "Here sweetheart, let me help you with those." Sarah smiled and rolled her eyes. "Sweetheart" was David's universal moniker for anyone he considered a friend. "That would actually be fabulous, right now," she replied, hoisting two bags into his arms.

David glanced in the bags as Sarah fumbled with the five different locks on her door. "So, it's a two-bottle night then?" David joked. Sarah blew her unruly hair out of her face that had long since escaped from the ponytail, grabbed the other bags on the floor, and led David into the apartment. "It might be, after the day I've had," she huffed. "Stay for a glass?" "Sorry, sweetheart, I'm meeting a friend for dinner in the city, and you know what a trek that is." She nodded, accompanying him back to the door. "Thanks so much for the help. Have a great time tonight." Just at that moment, Sarah heard a cacophony of stifled giggles and shuffling from the bedroom. "David!" she blurted out, eyes wide. "Did you hear that?" David raised an eyebrow and gave her a questioning look. "Sweetheart, all I hear is the rats in the walls, and your melodious voice. Now, go uncork one of the bottles and relax." He gave her a reassuring wink as he turned to go.

Sarah slowly latched the door and secured the locks. She leaned back against the cool door for a moment, closed her eyes, and gave herself a mental pat on the back. "Well, Williams, you made it through the day, even if your neighbor does think you're certifiable."

Sarah began to follow the nightly routine that kept her life orderly and somewhat sane. She had begun to create and follow them on the advice of a therapist she had seen early on about the panic attacks. "Maintain control of the craft at all times," she thought to herself as she put the groceries away. She remembered the helpless feelings she experienced when the dreams and unexplained happenings began. Whether it was her own mind attempting to assimilate her teenage experience in the Underground with her adult desire for logical explanations and closure, or whether that unhinged fae was actually torturing her for beating him at his game, she couldn't say. She had no proof that either scenario was true, and honestly couldn't decide which would be worse.

Sarah changed into jeans and a sweater, and began to uncork one of the bottles of wine. After pouring herself a glass, grabbing her favorite couch cushion, and cranking up some jazz music, she gingerly crawled out of the kitchen window onto her "balcony", also known as the fire escape. She was determined to relax and _not_ think about the frustration with her job, her terrifying dreams, or anything remotely associated with her experience in the Labyrinth.

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Reclining sideways in his throne, Jareth took a long draught from his goblet, then returned his gaze to the scrying crystal which displayed an image of Sarah sitting on some metal contraption, leaning against a brick building, clutching a glass of wine. The goblins had been kicked out (literally) so that he could focus on his prey; one of them unfortunately landed on a fruit vendor, whom Jareth would compensate eventually… perhaps. He huffed at the image of Sarah. How humans could tolerate that abomination they called "wine" was beyond his comprehension. The vintages from the Underground were far superior.

Jareth sneered as he rolled the crystal to his black-gloved palm; all black today. His lips curled into a smile as he considered his choice of attire. Yes, nothing but black would do for this occasion. She was almost ready; weakened by life, panic-stricken by the dreams, and doubtful of her own sanity. He chuckled into his goblet and slouched down further into the seat of his weapon-laden throne. "Where is your power now, my dear? Where is your spark, your confidence?" He held the crystal up in his palm, and gently blew on it, sending it aloft and out of the arched window. "A little present for you later this evening, _**sweetheart**_."

His uneven eyes sparkled as he was filled with an overwhelming sense of satisfaction. Suddenly, he sat up regally in his throne, placed the goblet on an armrest, and displayed a feral grin with wicked, pointed canine teeth just visible over his lips. "Oh yes, Sarah," he drawled seductively, "it's time for another….game, and this time, you will learn **exactly** just how much power I do have over you."

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Sarah leaned against the cool brick, building, observed the sparkling city lights through half-closed eyes, and let the jazz caress and sooth her tired, overactive mind. Nearly finished with her second glass of wine, she felt light and carefree, her consciousness floating over the illuminations and sounds of the city. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she absently recalled that Toby had a playoff football game that weekend that she promised to attend. "That will be nice," she thought, as the wind playfully whipped a few strands of hair over her mouth and nose. She laughed softly at the sensation.

"Beautiful night, isn't it? Except for the stench, of course," drawled a voice below her. Sarah's eyes flew completely open. Her heart skipped a beat. "No, no, no, no, **no** ," she thought to herself. She sat up abruptly, inadvertently sloshing some of the wine out of her glass, pulled her hair from her face with one hand, and tentatively looked below her, praying to the soul of the Universe, God, Odin, or whomever would listen, that the voice did not belong to…..him.

Lounging on the fire escape below, clothed entirely in black leather from his neck to his gloves and his audacious boots, was the one person, fae, whatever, she had never hoped to see again. "Sarah," he admonished in false exasperation, "if you wanted to share your wine, you could have just poured a glass for me."

Sarah's entire body tensed. She felt as if she were fifteen again, attempting to stand up to a force that was so much older, more sophisticated, and more manipulative than she could ever be, except, she was braver then. Then, she hadn't thought about the fact that she was playing the fae's game, risking her life, in another **dimension** , to save her brother, who had been taken. It didn't fit into the context of her adult life. Panic, fear, and hysteria drove her response, as she let the wine glass fall, and nearly dove back into the window, ripping her jeans along the way in an effort to get as far away from that…. being. Running into the kitchen, she half slid on the wood floors, jerking a knife from the block, and scrunching down behind the cabinets on the bar. She stayed that way for several minutes, using breathing techniques to calm her runaway heartbeat, and listening for any sounds of movement.

"My god, Sarah," she chastised herself. "Get a grip. What can he do to you? You won. You beat him." Somehow, her brain chose to regard the pep talk as empty words. She was still shaking and clutching the knife. Would a knife even **do** anything to a fae? She had no clue, but wasn't about to let go of the weapon. If David could see her now… if David would just knock on the door. If David would just decide he'd like to have a glass of wine. Sarah inhaled deeply into her stomach, then exhaled, slowly releasing the breath. This was ridiculous. She was not going to let some foppish, miscreant fae dictate her behavior in her own home. She was an adult, not a naïve, fifteen-year old teenager.

She tentatively began to lift herself up and peek over the cabinets. There he was, lounging on her couch, one arm draped over the back of the couch, one boot propped on the coffee table, lazily rolling a crystal back and forth across his hand and wrist. He glanced up at her with malice in his eyes, never missing a turn with the crystal. "Look Sarah," he enunciated, as if speaking to a child, "I've brought you….a gift." Sarah slumped to the floor with a groan, her head resting on her knees.


	3. Stimulating

**Disclaimer:** Now, why the concern? Not making any money at all. (Insert required legal boilerplate jargon here). Anyone who tries to sue will be made regent of the land of stench, since Hoggle is just a prince.

 **A/N** : I know it seems like Sarah is a whingy little muffin. She is just trying to deal with the situation with her adult mind, and it doesn't make any sense to her. I promise, she will "return"….eventually…..after his majesty has some fun.

" _Enemies can be so stimulating." – Katherine Hepburn_

"What the hell?" Sarah thought as she hugged her knees and dropped the knife, not trusting her shaking hands. She pushed away the thought that she was going into panic mode, knowing that she was staving off the inevitable. "You are an adult. He is a psychotic cryptozoological being. Just keep focused and take control of the situation," she told herself, knowing that taking control was probably outside the threshold of her capabilities at the moment. She first heard the click of his ostentatious black leather boots against the hard wood floor, and then heard his silky, patronizing voice advancing nearer. "I must say, Sarah, the ensemble you chose this morning was much more….flattering, shall we say, than your current vestments."

The functioning part of her brain worked out that he must be referring to her work clothes. Sarah quickly began reviewing the day through her mind, and gasped as she remembered the man on the subway. "It was you," she hissed, her voice somewhat muffled as he spoke the words with her head buried in her knees. He rounded the bar and the clicking of his boots stopped. Sarah fought the overwhelming urge to look at him, knowing the memories and the fear might push her into a full-blown panic attack, and she didn't want him to see her in that state. She heard a low chuckle, and a creak which meant he was probably leaning against her cabinets. Of course, he would just make himself at home, she mused.

"Oh, not only that," he said matter-of-factly, "we've been playing games with each other for quite some time now." At that moment, she felt the cabinet in front of her fly open. On instinct, she glanced up to locate the perceived threat and found herself staring into the green, distorted, lumpy face of a giggling goblin. The next sound she heard was a piercing scream, which she reasoned to be hers, as she buried her head back into her knees.

"Come, come, Sarah," he drawled, "why the concern? It is simply one of my loyal subjects." Sarah felt her breath began to quicken, knowing the signs of hyperventilating. Shit. She heard the sound of clinking glasses and water running, as her breath quickened, and she began to lose control of her breathing. Fabulous. The almighty goblin king was using her dishes to occupy himself while she spiraled full tilt into a panic attack. Part of her brain registered the word "bastard," while the other part struggled to remember something about the goblin king falling in love with the girl. Maybe that was it; she certainly wasn't a girl any longer. The tempo of her breathing increased as she felt the awful, rasping breaths escape her throat. The sense of panic began to set in. She wasn't even worried about the goblin king anymore. Suddenly, she heard the sound of a pill bottle being opened, and a dosage being meted out.

She felt a nudge one her shoulder. "Take it, Sarah. You obviously rely on it to function in your world." She heard rather than saw his smirk. She knew he had found her medication. Taking the medicine from him would be admitting defeat. Not taking the medicine from him would risk her passing out, as it took at least ten to twenty minutes to begin working. Sarah sighed between heaving breaths, feeling dizzier and dizzier. "Take it, Sarah," he commanded. She squinched her eyes shut even more, cursed her weakness, and reached out for the medication.

She felt an electric current as his gloved fingers touched hers to drop the pills into her waiting palm. She heard the glass and paper bag being set on the floor beside her. His boots began to click away from her, and then stopped. "Sarah," his voice sang her name, "would you like to know what's happened to you since you ran my Labyrinth?" She didn't dare respond, focusing on swallowing the pills, breathing into the bag, and keeping her eyes down. "My dear, we have a great deal to discuss, and I have a proposition for you that may release you from your…..unfortunate condition." Again with the disparaging chuckle. "When you have collected yourself, just call for me while holding this crystal, and we will discuss the terms." She heard the orb roll across the wood floor, and felt it tap her foot. As his heels clicked away from her, she released an anxious breath. The heels stopped. "Oh, and Sarah, this night will not pass until we discuss the terms of our new….deal." Her heart sank as she breathed heavily in and out of the paper bag. Damn him.

Sarah remained in her position on the floor against the cabinets for around twenty minutes, listening for any sound from the goblin king, though she heard none. "You've finally lost it, Sarah," she moaned. "You held it together for what… twelve years? And now, you've gone full-blown mental." She gingerly unfolded her legs that she'd been clenching in a folded position for over thirty minutes, and sucked in a breath at the pain that ensued. Muscles stretched and relaxed, brain out of panic mode, she attempted to process what had just happened.

Sarah slowly climbed to her feet and surveyed the empty living room. She walked tentatively to the window and peered cautiously out onto the fire escape, noting her couch cushion and toppled wine glass. The fire escape on the floor below where he had been lounging was also empty. Sarah sighed heavily and shrugged in relief, running her hands over her face. She nearing tripped over the crystal he had left, and shoved it towards the wall with her foot.

Bewildered and exhausted, she shuffled to the tiny bathroom, climbed into the former photography stop bath turned makeshift shower, and ran lukewarm water as she slumped against the tiled wall, still fully clothed. She didn't ask for this. What did he want? She'd run his ridiculous labyrinth and won back the child. Why couldn't he leave her alone? And then realization hit her as she succumbed to the exhaustion, and drifted into vivid memories of Hoggle's wrinkled yet kind face, being roughly groped by "helping hands," exuberantly storming the castle beyond the goblin city, and celebrating with her friends after the climactic confrontation. He couldn't, no, _**wouldn't**_ leave her alone, because she had _**won**_.

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A smallish, fuzzy creature ambled along the forest floor in the cool night air, sniffing at the foliage and tree roots along the way. Suddenly, an ear-splitting screech rent the stillness of the twilight forest, an abrupt breeze shook the lower-hanging limbs, and the creature was gone. After consuming his prize, the owl soared above the goblin kingdom once more, screeching and circling as if establishing his dominance over the land below. It had been a very productive day. A potential dwarf revolt had been quelled before it started, the king having asserted his will upon his mine workers, making it clear that any dissent would result in immediate bogging and/or a reserved dungeon cell for an indeterminate amount of time. Of course, he was not an unreasonable monarch. He allowed the dwarves one additional chicken in payment per week, effectively ridding his castle of some of the annoying fowl as a bonus.

Jareth was rarely magnanimous for the sake of being so; any overt gesture was sure to result in an advantage to him in one way or another. Except when a certain young human girl had run his labyrinth to win back her baby brother, he mused. She should have expected the tricks; he was a fae after all. What **he** had not expected was her tenacity, her imagination, and her sheer force of will. The tricks and sexual innuendos had been designed to keep her off balance, distract her from her goal, frustrate her, and ultimately cause her to fail to complete the labyrinth in the allotted time (allotted time being thirteen hours plus or minus, at Jareth's discretion).

He **had** succeeded in stalling her, surprising her, entrancing her….. but she ultimately rejected him and defeated him. Never in his long lifetime…..never. He had taken the child as she had requested (of course, fae did take children without a request, but that was beside the point); he had allowed her to try her luck against his labyrinth to win back the child; he had re-ordered time for her…..and the dance….the dance. The owl screeched menacingly and dove towards a dwarf on the wooded path, barely missing the creature's head. The dwarf, who dove into the woods screaming, would continue to have nightmares about the owl for the next month. If owls could smirk….

Seeing Sarah unravel over the years from his cleverly-constructed dreams, and the tricks he'd played on her now and then that caused her to doubt herself and eventually her sanity, gave him some satisfaction. Letting his subjects intermittently have their way with her apartment made him chuckle. But, _**winning**_ in a game against her would provide the ultimate triumph, and he would not rest until she was crushed before him, as he had been before her.

The long game would prove most effective, he knew. She was weakened. It took some time to wear her down, to ensure he would be victorious. He would not underestimate her again…ever. What a satisfying way to end the evening, with Sarah crouching spinelessly before him, even dependent on him to provide her with the pills that allowed her to function. It was a pity she had retracted in that ball-like state. She had grown into a beautiful human woman…he frequently scryed on her at the museum to watch her work. The owl shook his head and hooted, admonishing himself for thinking of Sarah as beautiful.

Circling once more over the goblin city, Jareth dove towards the balcony off of his chambers, morphing into his fae form as he came in contact with the stone. As he moved through the archway into his rooms, he flicked his wrist absent-mindedly, replacing the severe black leather ensemble with a silky white shirt, open at the front, and grey breeches. A goblet appeared in his slim, grey-gloved hand as he sank into the huge, plush chair before the monstrous stone fireplace, garish goblin faces gazing back from the ornately carved mantle. Tomorrow would be busy. There were many obligations to see to. "You may turn my world, precious thing, but you will not control it," he promised aloud. Leaning back in the chair, Jareth resolved to cease thinking about Sarah Williams until she was ready to discuss their deal. Until then, she would just have to deal with the never-ending night…..smirk.


	4. No Battle Plan Survives

**Disclaimer:** I said my right words and wished to own Labyrinth; sadly, the goblins reported that "kingy is busy dancing." Sigh… maybe I'll try again later. In summary, I don't own it.

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" _No battle plan survives contact with the enemy." – Colin Powell  
_

 _Hoggle nervously toyed with his vest, his fuzzy eyebrows raised in apparent confusion, as he listed to Sarah explain how the goblin king had approached her earlier that night. "Then, he said he had a proposition for me," she threw her hands up in exasperation as she leaned against a large rock somewhere inside the labyrinth. In spite of the circumstances, Sarah couldn't help but be overjoyed at seeing her squat, little closet hero. "What do you think he's up to, Hoggle?" The dwarf looked around nervously and stammered, "H-How would I know? I ain't the keeper of his majesty's conscience," he spouted defensively._

 _Sarah cocked her head to the side and blinked. "His majesty?" she asked, incredulously. "What happened to 'that rat,' or just plain calling him by name? I don't remember you being so respectful." An almost subconscious thought passed through Sarah's mind – she couldn't recall how she'd arrived here. Had she called her friends in the mirror? Hoggle looked worriedly at the surrounding rocks and awkwardly sidestepped closer to Sarah. "Sarah, he knows I was helpin' ya last time. I been soundly_ _ **threatened**_ _if I ever helps ya again." He wrung his squat, lumpy hands. "The rat made watch him bog a goblin for taking your wee brother before he gaves the order." Sarah mused thoughtfully for a moment, then asked a pointed question. "Hoggle, are you really here? Is this a dream?" Hoggle, eyebrows drawn up as if he was thoroughly perplexed, looked at her in silence for a moment, then finally admitted in his gravelly voice, "I don't know, Sarah."_

 _Suddenly, the air became thicker and darker, and Sarah's nostrils were filled with a noxious, rotting odor. "Oh god!" she exclaimed, squinching her face and pulling a sleeve up over her nose. She turned to Hoggle to verify what she was smelling. Hoggle was no longer standing beside her. He was suspended upside down by nothing she could see over a puckering, fetid, green marsh. "Uh, S-Sarah," he yelled, beginning to thrash, "get me down!" Sarah stood suddenly, bringing her hand to her throat and gasping in shock. "Hoggle!" she screamed tip-toeing to the edge of the bog, attempting to reach the dwarf as he swung slightly from his wild thrashing. Sarah felt fear rip through her chest as Hoggle began to descend inch by inch, headfirst towards the reeking marsh. "Hoggle!" she screamed again helplessly, as she came closer and closer to toppling into the bog, trying to reach him. "Dammit, Jareth!"…._

Sarah bolted up in the bed reaching for her friend. "Ho-ggle..." her voice trailed off, as she gasped for breath, wide eyes darting around the dark room. She slumped back against the small headboard, realizing it was just a dream… or a nightmare. And why had she called for Jareth? She hadn't heard that name in years….oh. She suddenly recalled her unexpected visitor from the previous evening. She struggled to remember the details. Something about a proposition, and relieving her of her condition, whatever that meant.

Somehow, she'd managed to get out of the shower and crawl into bed at some point. She slid out of bed, grabbed her robe, and shuffled into the kitchen/living room/office, nearly tripping over the crystal ball again, which had rolled away from the wall, and rested in the middle of the floor. An image of her father placing one of Toby's baseballs in the middle of the floor flashed through her mind. "See Sarah, it's **not** level," he claimed, as if that alone should deter her from taking the only apartment in the city she could afford without the help of roommates that was in a location where she didn't fear for her life. "Whatever, bloody Goblin King," she huffed, rolling her eyes.

She glanced at the clock. It couldn't be – either she'd slept through the workday into the next evening, or it was only thirty minutes after she'd poured the second glass of wine and retreated back to the fire escape, before **he** had appeared. Then she remembered what he'd said, that the night would not pass until they had discussed the "terms" of his new "deal." "No fucking way," she moaned, wondering how that worked. Was it like the movie _Groundhog Day_? Would the night just play over and over until she called on him? Why her? All she wanted to do was become a senior curator of a world renowned private collection, publish some respected works, become an expert in her field, earn a little respect, run her hands through his silky-looking, blond mane…What? "Holy shit, where did that come from?" she wondered aloud, though she had a pretty strong suspicion. "Go juice now, think later," she murmured as she headed to the coffee pot.

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Jareth bounced the human toddler on his knee, as he glanced up through his hair to the goblin who was perched in a cleft on the wall above the throne. "He has your eyes," Jareth drawled, "I think I'll call him "Cuchulain." The goblin turned its head to the side, confused. "But me _Bogsplat_ , majesty," the little monstrosity insisted. Jareth grinned, turning his gaze back to the child and murmured " _precisely_."

It had been a fortnight in the Underground since he had _visited_ Sarah, as if she had a choice in hearing his proposition. He had, for the most part, occupied himself with his kingdom and entertained himself at the expense of his subjects, satisfied with the knowledge that she would have to call on him sooner or later. Silently, in the thoughts at the back of his mind, cowering before him in supplication and fear, was Sarah Williams. He grinned at the thought and nearly shuddered in anticipation. It wouldn't do for his subjects to see him so affected. Yet he was excited, nonetheless. He would compel her to play his game. He would have her at his mercy, perhaps even serving him. He licked his thin lips, displaying the unsettling canine teeth that he had inherited from who knows what type of being in his ancestry.

At that moment, a voice like a silken whisper echoed through the throne room. "Goblin King, I am ready to discuss your…. _proposition_."

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Sarah held the crystal up to the light and turned it slowly, reveling in the jewel-like sparkling patterns. She thought she must look like an evil queen in a Disney movie, smooth, ivory hand, holding a crystal aloft, preparing to doom some innocent victim to….she chuckled softly to herself. _**She**_ was the innocent victim. Sarah had spent the last few "days" of the night that would not pass preparing for this, once she realized that Jareth had meant what he'd said. There was no reasoning with him; she remembered that from experience.

She strolled to the mirror over the stand where she dumped her keys and mail at the door, wine glass in one hand, crystal in the other, assessing her reflection. She'd remembered her father preparing for court, and advising his clients in preparation for their testimony, emphatically uttering his favorite phrase, "The emotional response you create in the jury is more important than your guilt or innocence." At one time, Sarah had a moral compunction against the phrase; now, she thought she understood. Once she accepted that the confrontation would be repeated on some level, that Jareth wouldn't let her ignore him and get on with her life, she began to prepare.

She had twisted her hair into a sophisticated knot and secured it at the back of her head. Her eyes were accentuated with smoky green and gray shadows, and strategically-placed blush emphasized the hollows in her cheeks and the lack of baby fat. She chose chic, diamond and platinum earrings with a matching choker to compliment and highlight her features. As she secured the choker around her neck, an image of her younger self bribing Hoggle with a gaudy, plastic bracelet flashed through her mind.

Finally, she'd chosen a black dress with sleeves that hung down just below her elbows, and a V-shaped neckline that emphasized her delicate collarbones and graceful neck, as well as providing a "tasteful" view of her cleavage. She worried that he would assume that she had dressed for him, rather than the truth, which was that she was using everything she had to give the impression that she was not the same child he had confronted years before. Black, leather high-heeled boots completed her battle attire.

She smiled appreciatively at her reflection and gracefully sipped her wine. The almighty Goblin King wasn't the only one who could rock knee-length boots. Sarah felt a small shot of confidence, which of course, fired off worried thoughts that the effect would be interpreted differently than she'd intended. "Stop waffling," she commanded her mirror self, "just stick to the strategy." She would consider his words carefully, weighing the options, attempting to discover the omitted possibilities and veiled inferences to get what she wanted, a goblin and goblin _king_ -free life.

Sarah bit her bottom lip as she reminded herself that she could decline his proposition and continue with the status quo. She hypothesized that would mean forever being at the mercy of her anxieties, suffering through an undistinguished career and lackluster life…..and possibly having nightmares of everyone she cared about being suspended headfirst over the bog of eternal stench….

The anxiety could be an issue, she mused. She had already taken her anti-anxiety medication, meditated for a few hours, and visualized her previous defeat of the Goblin King…replayed several times. Suddenly, a small, gray pot-bellied created shimmied up the table stand, grabbed Sarah's keys, and jumped off the table with a joyful shriek, scurrying towards her bedroom. After recovering from the shock, Sarah turned back to the mirror, resigning herself. "Just get it over with," she willed to herself.

Sarah set the wine glass on the table stand and held the crystal aloft again, shutting her eyes and furrowing her brow in determination. She called out as if issuing a challenge, "Goblin King, I am ready to discuss your… _proposition_."

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Sarah stood, holding the crystal, dreading the grand, dramatic entrance she would be forced to endure. She waited for what seemed like an eternity with her eyes closed, expecting a gale-force wind, a goblin horde, or at the least, a hurricane of owl feathers and glitter.

She maintained the expectant pose for about a minute, waiting…for the dramatic entrance that never came. "Narcissistic, preening, b-," she began as she opened her eyes, and yelped in surprise, dropping the crystal that bounced down the stairs with a tinkling glass sound. She was in the Escher room, only it was different, darker, more menacing. Arched windows on various walls throughout the room provided a view of silver, dark gray clouds, emitting sparks of purple-golden lightening at intervals. Through some windows, she could see the cityscape, which seemed odd. What was even stranger was the placement of the windows, at angles that had to be an interior wall, or on walls that seemed to be on the ceiling or the floor.

"Hello, Sara," a deep, silky voice intoned from the shadows, "please continue with your colorful description." He sauntered out of the shadows towards her, in full goblin army regalia, pinning her with a merciless, blank expression, halting only inches from her, so that she was forced to look up to maintain eye contact, which she had promised herself she would do. Fear ripped through her internal stronghold, threatening to destroy the careful facade she had crafted. Internally, she reached for the anger she had felt earlier, knowing that was the only way she could overcome the instinct to panic. Sarah inhaled sharply, detecting a scent filled with earth, wood, spices, and something she couldn't name. She shook off the dizzying effects of the scent, and glanced back up at the Goblin King.

Struggling to control her breathing and heart rate, she steeled her face in a defiant expression, opening her glossy pink lips to retort. At that moment, one of the king's black, steel-sleeved arms reached purposefully around Sarah's head, his hand removing the clip from her hair, which cascaded in a waterfall of silk around her shoulders…completely derailing her train of thought.


	5. The Whole Secret

**Disclaimer:** I tried to buy the rights, but they laughed at my offer. Don't own it. Don't sue. Don't defy me.

 **A/N** : Thank you to everyone who reviewed! Love to read your reactions, inspires me to keep going!

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" _The whole secret lies in confusing the enemy, so that he cannot fathom our true intent."  
– __The Art of War_ _, (attributed to) Sun Tzu_

Sarah's reply to the Goblin King's snarky comment was lost in throat, as she stared up into his other-worldly eyes, glinting with malice. His deliberate action and proximity, as well as the strange surroundings, only exacerbated the crippling fear and insecurity she felt in his presence. She moved her gaze down to his black, polished breastplate to avoid his eyes. What was she doing here again? Right, the proposition that would allow her to retake control of her life. Sarah clenched her fists and gave herself a mental shot of courage, wishing she'd consumed more liquid courage. "You are a competent, professional woman. You have a Master's degree. You've managed complex, large-scale exhibitions. You've pitched fundraising plans to museum executive cabinet members. You can do this," she affirmed to herself.

"Sarah," he said pointedly, "Though the view of the top of your head is enthralling, I do have other obligations to which I must attend _(deals to make, children to steal, mortals to manipulate, subjects to toy with...)_. I'm giving you this opportunity to better deal with your…ailment, and perhaps achieve some of your dreams," he offered reassuringly. "I am attempting to be **generous**..."

"But you can be **cruel** ," she finished quietly and resignedly, still staring at his breastplate. His lips twitched slightly, repressing a satisfied grin. Sarah wondered why she had said that – the words just slid from her mouth as if she were finishing a sentence she'd heard over and over. What did he mean he was being generous? Was this a trick? It had to be a trick, to draw her into his game – why else would he be _generous_? And yet, somehow she **knew** , if she did not deal with this, she would never be rid of him…..or his freaky little goblins. "No guts, no glory," she thought to herself, laughing maniacally in her head, "time to swan dive off the cliff."

"Fine, Jareth," she nearly whispered, "what is your proposition?" Sarah took a few casual steps backward, no longer able to cope with the invasion of her personal space. Jareth's eye twitched at her use of his familiar name, but he said nothing. He needed her to agree to the game. Further….. _corrections_ could be addressed after the deal was struck. Jareth flipped one black-gloved hand around to reveal a crystal. "I'm giving you a second chance, Sarah, a chance to choose your dreams." Sarah's gaze flickered to the crystal, which contained swirling images of her - directing other museum employees in setting up a sculpture exhibit; receiving an award in a large banquet hall; standing at the balustrade of a large balcony clothed in glittering, black evening wear, a man beside her with his hand on the small of her back. The man's face and the details of his features were obscured as if they were being viewed in a fun-house mirror. She slightly tilted her head to the side, transfixed on the images of her dreams. "Who is he?" she asked, not realizing she'd said it aloud.

"They're **your** dreams, Sarah," he stated less sternly, with a reassuring smile. _Bait._ "Do you want them?" One of her hands moved involuntarily to the choker around her neck as she considered what he had shown her. Of course she wanted them. The Sarah in the crystal looked so confident…competent. She had everything. A silent warning rang in her head, echoing the words, "don't just say yes."

Jareth could barely keep his countenance in control as he watched Sarah's internal struggle. "Just say yes," he willed her, silently. He watched her slim, white hand twist the choker slowly around her graceful neck, almost as enthralled with the image as she was with her dreams. The symbolism was not lost on him. Her voice drew him from his reverie. "What else is there? What do I have to do?" she asked flatly, dreading the quid pro quo part of the deal.

He cocked his head to the side, still smiling encouragingly. "It's very simple really," he explained. "You must accompany me to two events, one in the Aboveground, and one in the Underground." Though the idea of attending an "event" with the Goblin King caused her shoulder muscles to tense in worry, it didn't seem to be an unreasonable request. She could make it through a couple of events, even if attending an event in the Underground would most likely challenge her anxieties. "But there's a condition, right?" she challenged, finally able to maintain eye contact.

He blinked slowly in silent exasperation, though he continued to smile. The difficult part. He would have to tread carefully, choosing his words, veiling his ultimate goal. "There are two small conditions," he related, placing his hands on his hips, the crystal continuing to rotate unsupported in the air, swirling with images of her dreams. "You were such a brilliant little actor when I first saw you reciting your lines in the park, so the first condition should be…a piece of cake." Sarah grimaced. Of course he remembered that. "You must simply play a part as if you are in a play. No lines to remember; you will simply play a role that is relevant to the situation." Sarah paused in thought, then slowly walked over to one of the arched windows, boots clicking in small, measured steps across the stone. She rested her hands on the stone sill and considered the strangeness of the view to keep her mind from spiraling into an anxious oblivion. His response was waaaay too vague. God, she would give her right arm for some wine right now. "How can I even consider this, not knowing what the roles are?" she asked, still staring out the window.

The fact that she had posed her reservation as a question rather than a statement told him that she was weakening. _Trap_. He regarded the effect of the image Sara created standing at the archway with her back to him, dark, silvery clouds and jagged purple-gold lightening framing her. It was stunning, and should be captured as part of his collection, a "trophy" perhaps. Jareth mentally recorded the image to a crystal as he formed his response.

"When we are at the event in the Aboveground, you will simply introduce me as a friend, and treat me accordingly. At the event in the Underground, you will act in the role of an invited human guest," he stated matter-of-factly. He tilted his head, looking down his nose at Sarah's back, thinking about the demands made of invited human guests at the Underground feasts. Sarah chewed her bottom lip thoughtfully. "And after I go to this event in the Underground, I will be able to leave?" she asked. The images she had seen in the crystal played over in her mind. To be free of the anxiety, successful professionally….and then, there was the mystery of the man at the balcony.

"Of course, Sarah," the silky voice responded directly behind her, causing her to flinch. "You have my word." Small consolation, though she had to admit that he had never **technically** lied to her before. He was so close behind her that she felt the heat off of him. She was beginning to think he did it on purpose to annoy her and mess with her head. She berated herself for allowing him to manipulate the situation. "Dammit, Sarah! Focus!" She paused as if considering the proposition, mentally searching for the "bookmark" her brain should have placed in the discussion. Conditions…..right. She looked over her shoulder, asking, "What's the other condition?" Jareth reached up and traced the line of the choker along the exposed side of her neck, causing Sarah to involuntarily shudder and release a small gasp. "Please…do not…touch me," she stuttered, trying desperately to keep the panic out of her voice. Jareth grinned savagely, crossing his arms. "Why Sarah, the other condition is that you cannot have a….what do you call them….a "panic attack" during either of the events.

Sarah sucked in a breath. Meeting that condition might be more difficult. "What have I got to lose," she deliberated, "if I can't do it, then I just don't get my dreams…..again." So close. Jareth could hardly keep still. He wanted nothing more than to vault out of the window and soar above the Goblin City in triumph, but there was one more condition he had to reveal to satisfy the requirements of an official deal in his realm. Jareth strode over to the wall beside the window where Sarah was, leaning against it to see the reaction on her face. "It's a pity that someone who had so much imagination, spirit, and drive would find herself suffering from your condition, unable to achieve what she wants and deserves." He said the words earnestly, cape subtly rippling around his armor in a breeze that came from nowhere.

Glancing at him she noticed that his face seemed to be lit by a bright light, though there was no source of light in the room, save a faint glow from the clouds outside, and occasional flashes of lightening. The eerie light caused his mane to glow around his face. "Where the hell is that light coming from?" Sara thought to herself. "Sarah, you should know that I want to help you," he assured her, "and so, if you cannot meet the conditions, I will personally see to it that you are treated by the best healers my race has to offer." He mentally added, "As my servant." Sarah picked apart the "proposition" to try and discover any holes he could use to do something wicked. The prospect of being free of the oppressive anxiety had created a wellspring of hope in her chest. Her dreams were just beyond her grasp, swirling delicately in the crystal that had followed Jareth to his place beside her.

She suddenly remembered an offer he'd made while she was cringing pitifully against the bar cabinets. Turning to face him she said pointedly, "You asked me if I wanted to know what happened to me after I ran your Labyrinth." Jareth eyes narrowed almost imperceptibly as he responded, "If you want to overcome this obstacle and live the life you were meant to live, it can only help you to know what caused your unfortunate circumstances. I can help with that as well…if, you accept."

Sarah gazed back out at the impossible view of the cityscape and the other-worldly weather, thinking about the decision she had to make. "How much time do I get to decide?" she asked. Jareth sighed. This was getting tedious. He was ready to start the game…..and finish it. "Unfortunately Sarah, you must decide now. I am being generous, but I also have obligations. This is not an offer for a frightened mouse of a woman who cannot make a decision." "Do you want it, Sarah?" he asked emphatically, waving the crystal to float in her field of vision. He imagined a delicate, bejeweled chain attached to Sarah's sparkling choker. He could smell, taste, and feel victory, all of the synapses in his non-human body firing in anticipation.

Sarah sighed, gazing at her dreams before her, surrounded by purple-gold lightning and silver-gray clouds. She did want them. Badly. How many other chances would she get? How long would she have to wait for her next promotion? To receive an award? To meet….him? She ran her fingers through her hair in exasperation, as she leaned against the stone wall on the opposite side of the window as Jareth. There was a sensation in her chest that felt like a freezing feeling. She wondered if it was hope or dread. It sounded so wonderful, the thought of having her dreams. "Sarah, I'll ask once more….do you want them?" Jareth questioned pointedly. Sarah groaned and made a sound that resembled a whimper. "Yes," she whispered, reaching for the crystal, which faded into the stone. Sarah cried out as she slapped the stone where the crystal had disappeared. Jareth pushed off the wall and stood directly in front of her, the unholy mismatched eyes of a predator glaring down at her, inches from her face.

"Fuck," she whispered. Jareth lips drew taught into a smile, revealing his pointed teeth. One fae-marked eyebrow raising questioningly. "What's the matter, Sarah?" he asked as if speaking to a child. Her hand rose back to her neck to toy with her choker. "I fell as if I've made a deal with the devil," she lamented. "Oh my dear, there are a litany of demons and angels in my lineage." _Caught._


	6. No Room for Demons

**Disclaimer:** Don't own it. What a pity, because I would've made a sequel waaaaay before now.  
Please R&R.

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" _There's no room for demons when you're self-possessed."  
\- Carrie Fisher (aka "Princess Leia")  
_

Sarah leaned on her desk, chin resting on one hand, absentmindedly clicking through the collections database. She barely registered the images and descriptions as they flew by on the screen. Her conscience was attempting to convince her brain that she should focus on identifying the available works for the upcoming exhibition so that Val could approve them. They were already working on logistics with their partner museum in Spain, and the pieces **had** to be identified by the planning meeting on Monday. Sarah groaned as she pulled her hair over one shoulder to keep wayward strands from falling into her face.

She had awakened that morning dazed in her bed, wearing one of her "sleeping" t-shirts, sun beginning to filter through the apartment windows. The last thing she had remembered was his glowing hair and face inches from hers, thin lips curved into an ominous grin, eyes glinting with menacing potential. She shuddered, remembering the paralyzing fear that had gripped her at his comment about angels and demons. "What the hell was that even supposed to mean?" she asked herself. Was he descended from angels **and** demons? Did they even have children? Was he more demon or more angel? She suspected she knew the answer to that last question.

She cursed herself for the time she'd spent trying to emphasize her more mature features and her age – as if it had made a difference. He'd simply countered by releasing her hair from its carefully-staged up-do, standing way to close for her personal comfort, and toying with the choker around her neck…she realized that the choker, in hindsight, had been an unfortunate choice in accessories. Once again, he'd used sexual innuendo, emotional manipulation, and his general unsettling appearance to distract her and control the situation. She had almost felt as if her thoughts and will had been gently guided to agree to the terms. A low, derisive laugh escaped her lips, as she thought about how foolish she'd been, thinking that he would treat her like the adult she'd become.

He wasn't human. At fifteen, she'd seen how manipulative he was, bending her dreams with a psychedelic peach, threatening those who chose to help her, and distracting her with his physical…attributes and presence that promised way more than she was ready to deal with at that age. And he'd done it again. The same _exact_ fucking thing….. She'd learned nothing, absolutely nothing. She could see his self-righteous, narcissistic, infuriating _smirk_ , as she roughly tapped the mouse to display the next item. He hadn't even explained how she would know what the events were and when they would take place. "You have thirteen hours in which to run the Labyrinth," she replayed in her head ( _and I will take away your time, drop you in an oubliette, attempt to kill you with my cleaners, and generally screw with your mind)._ After their previous meeting, she remembered it all now so much more clearly than she had before.

When she'd dragged herself out of bed that morning, cursing the alarm, she had almost determined that the most recent Goblin King-cursed incident had been a dream brought on by stress at his reappearance, until she'd realized that the never-ending night had ended. There had also been a "reminder" that appeared as she had collected her keys and headed out the door – her "dream" crystal had appeared faintly in the mirror above the small table stand, images of the _successful_ Sarah swirling as it rotated. She had almost run all the way from her apartment to the subway, grabbing a coffee to go, and gulping down her medication, trying to distance herself from the memory of how the confrontation had ended and avoid a panic attack at work.

Sarah glanced up at the framed photos on top of the metal cabinet in her cubicle, stopping on the photo of the tow-headed cherub-faced boy, holding a huge ice cream cone and grinning as if he'd just discovered fire, showing one missing tooth. She grinned; she was so glad she would see him the next day…..her father and Karen too, though not as much. "Stay positive," she thought. She knew she could beat him at his game again, and possibly get what she wanted _again._ She would have to be smarter and stop taking for granted that just because he looked like he was an adult human that he would respond that way. _Demons and angels_. A devious sparkle in her eyes joined the grin as she thought of her current self in the Underground, post-event, not having had a panic attack, the Goblin King bowing before her as she metaphorically placed her boot on his neck. "Give me my dreams, bastard! You have no power over me!" she hissed through her teeth, not realizing she'd made the proclamation aloud.

A sandy-haired head slowly peeked over the cubicle in front of her, resembling a groundhog peering out of its hole. "You ok, Sarah?" the head asked. She glanced up at her coworker with a sheepish grin. "I'm fine, Chris. Bad night."

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Sarah flipped her lettuce around in her salad. She was uncomfortable at the museum café today, and would not have taken lunch, except Val asked to meet her there. It was somewhat crowded, partly due to the "fashionable" lack of seating, and with all that was running through her mind, she would rather have been in her safe, little cube. Thankfully, she'd taken her medication that morning, or it could have been much worse. "I see we're at our normal table, and you're ignoring the beautiful view behind you. Bad day then, Sarah?" asked Val, demurely settling herself in one of the other plastic, white chairs at the table that afforded a stunning view of the park. "Hey Val," Sarah replied without conviction, dark circles punctuating her eyes. "It's not bad," she assured the other woman, "I'm working through it. Oh, and I will have some pieces from the _Cell_ collection for your approval by the end of the day."

Val waved away the comment, digging into her pecan tart. "No worries, sweetie. If we need, to, you and I can get together for coffee Monday morning and get it straightened out before the meeting at nine." Sarah was so thankful for a boss like Val. She understood Sarah's struggles with the delay in getting a Curator post, and she was flexible with Sarah's anxiety issues, after finding her doubled over in a corner in the collection storage, unable to remove her hands from her face. Val had retrieved her medication and some water, and even introduced her to a doctor that had helped her improve her symptoms to the point where she could travel overseas with the exhibitions. Sarah often found herself secretly jealous of Val. She was so self-assured and confident, and beautiful, and smart…damn her.

Val crossed her legs and smoothed a stray strand of blond hair behind her ear as she began to pick at her pecan tart. The man at the next table was staring overtly at Val's legs. Sarah rolled her eyes, as Val exhibited her practiced ability to ignore such attentions and focused on Sarah. "So, I wanted to talk to you about two things, actually," Val began, taking a bird-sized bite of the tart. Sarah leaned back in the plastic chair and crossed her ankles, not daring to cross her legs in the pencil skirt she was wearing. Sarah smirked, sipping her water. "Why do I get the feeling this is not work-related?" laughed. Val was always trying to drag her out on dates, to clubs, anywhere to get her out of her apartment. Val grinned, showing her perfectly straight white teeth. "You kill me, Sarah!" she laughed. "If you would just go out some time, I would leave you alone. Honestly!" Sarah glared at Val in exasperation. "You know, I'm not a charity case…..yet." Val smiled. "I know, sweetie. Actually the first is work-related, and the second isn't," said matter-of-factly, turning back to her tart. Sarah pushed the salad away and turned towards Val. "I'm listening," she said.

Val sipped her coffee, leaving a perfectly pinkish-red impression of her lips. Sarah absently wondered how she managed that, as her own coffee lipstick impressions often looked like a mini crime scene, _red_ or pink smeared over the lid's opening. "So, you know the patron's evening next Friday?" Sarah nodded; she knew it well, as she'd helped to plan it. "Well, I know I told you that you weren't required to go, but the cabinet has requested that all curators above the assistant level attend, and that means you, my dear." Sarah cringed at the term that Jareth had used to address her as she was cowering by her bar cabinets. She gazed up at Val. "So, that means I **have** to go? I can't get out of this? That's really short notice..." Val sighed. "Trust me, I know. You aren't the only one with whom I will have this conversation today." It was Sarah's turn to sigh. "Geez, what if I'd had plans?" Val dropped her gaze and raised her eyebrows as if to say _**"Really?"**_ "Fine, fine," Sarah acquiesced, mentally running through her scant collection of eveningwear. "What's the other thing?"

Val's eyes sparkled as she explained that one of her boyfriend's good friends was coming into town next week. Sara could immediately tell where this conversation was headed. "Val, you know how I feel about blind dates," she lamented. "It's not a _blind_ date," corrected Val, "Antonio and I can both vouch for him. They've been friends for fifteen years." Sarah face steeled, coming as close to pouting as a grown woman's face could, without her being accused of pouting. "Please, Sarah," Val implored. "I would consider it a personal favor." Her blue eyes twinkled, encouraging Sara to do her bidding. Sarah sighed even louder. "When will this travesty of an evening take place?" she asked, defeated. Val smiled her toothpaste-ad smile again, clasping Sarah's arm. "Monday evening. Oh Sarah, you don't know how much I appreciate this! It will be fun, sweetie, I promise!" she gushed.

"My god," thought Sarah, "in the span of a few days, my entire world has been turned upside down." She nearly choked on her water, remembering the last time she'd heard those words. Val's brow furrowed in concern. "I'm ok," assured Sara through coughs, "It just went down the wrong way." Val nodded supportively, gathering her lunch items to throw in the bin. "So, when do I get to learn about Prince Charming?" asked Sara, closing the plastic container that held her half-eaten salad. "Tell you what," said Val, "Come by my office at four, and we'll include that in our discussion about the patron's evening," she winked. "Great," breathed Sarah in resignation. The women both stood to leave, gathering their lunch items.

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Lights twinkled across the inky purple sky, emanating from no specific visible source, sprinkling the small gathering on the main castle balcony off of the great hall with shimmers of brightness. Varying pitches of other-worldly voices could be heard giggling, taunting, pleading, sparring... Jareth reclined on one of many dark, overstuffed, chaise-like couches that had been moved to the balcony for this occasion, one knee propped up, regarding the platinum discs in his gloved hand. Five other similar couches were placed around an ornate, wooden table, occupied by various male and female beings who were splayed across the couches in a similar fashion as Jareth – intent on winning, bored with being.

A deep, clipped voice resonated through the air, breaking Jareth out of his reverie. "What will you put forward, Erlkönig?" Jareth's cheek twitched almost imperceptibly, registering distaste at one of the many names humans had made for him. "Ah, Esu," he drawled coyly, "you know very well I am not an elf." He glanced at the pale, young Elvin prince across the table. "No offense, my friend." The prince sneered and retorted, "Trying to dodge again, Jareth? Make your bet."

Jareth shot a feral grin across the table, the undertones of his expression belying dangerous intent should the prince continue his taunting. "One..winged…horse," Jareth spat, waving off-handedly towards the center of the table, where a crystal appeared with an image of a snowy, muscular, winged stallion. Jareth was in a foul mood. He'd agreed to this impromptu gathering when some of the other young (young being at least a few thousand years old in the human realm)cross-dimensionals had gathered for a few drinks and some games of chance. He had not expected to lose a human nursemaid in the second hand, and possibly a winged horse in this hand. The nursemaid had been exceptional in dealing with the human children, and she was easy on the eyes, acquiescent. She must be replaced immediately. He was not focused on the game.

As the other beings involved in the game listed their contributions to the stakes, Jareth ruminated on his challenge to the human Sarah, oblivious to the conversation. He almost wished he were alone to scry on her or view his memory crystals to watch her shrink and cower against her deplorable apartment furnishings, or slam her small hand against the stone in frustration, realizing her dreams were not within her reach. He knew her dreams were not even part of the deal, just a convenient temptation. The human woman "Valerie" had been easy to manipulate. If she suspected that her higher-ups had a preference or an agenda, she would….rise to the occasion. He smirked. At least Sarah would have questioned their motives, one of the reasons why she was a worthy opponent. Such a pity that he would have to humiliate her, subdue her, and prove his power over her. Dimensionals of his ilk simply did not allow a human to defeat them. Thankfully, none of this lot knew about her original run through his Labyrinth.

"Jareth," the elf's calm voice implored, interrupting his thoughts, "play your hand." Jareth turned his mismatched eyes to the discs in play on the table. He quickly waved a disc into the pile and continued his train of thought, brows furrowed in irritation. He smiled to himself, sharp incisors visible over the top of his thin bottom lip. He felt a hand slowly snake over his chest and around to his shoulder. Encasing the arm in an iron grip before he'd barely registered its presence, he glanced up into two, glowing bright green eyes with a shock of curly auburn hair framing a playful, smiling female face. "Áine," he stated in recognition, releasing his grip. He lowered his voice to a whisper. "I think your attentions would be better served if they were focused on the elven prince tonight." Jareth dutifully kissed the back of one of her hands and unwound the other from his chest. The woman frowned at him in disappointment, and focused her eyes on the prince across the table.

Áine was beautiful and accommodating, but Jareth was absorbed implicitly with the upcoming challenges he had posed to the female human Sarah. He had to win, to have her cowering before him. How could he explain any other outcome? It was just too important to throw the details to the wind while he enjoyed himself with a young female cross-dimensional. He felt rather than heard the thoughts of the elven prince across the table. "What troubles you tonight?" Jareth glanced up to meet his eyes, trepidation rising within him. "Nothing of your concern," Jareth shot back, eyes sharp with threats unspoken. The young prince was incessantly challenging him. The corner of the elven prince's lips tugged into a smile. "I hear a human female beat your Labyrinth. I imagine that does not settle well with you." Jareth cursed in several different languages, never severing his gaze from the young prince's eyes, never betraying any hint of emotion. "I allowed her certain….privileges," he returned, "not that it's any of your concern." He suddenly realized that all eyes were on him as the elven prince spoke loudly enough for all to hear, "Jareth, show your hand."


	7. I lie to Myself

**Disclaimer:** I attempted to enlist Jennifer's Connelly's help in purchasing the rights. She replied that I had no power over her and that I should get a life. (Pouty face) Still don't own it.

" _I lie to myself all the time, but I never believe me."  
\- S.E. Hinton  
_

**A/N:** As always, thanks for the reviews! I love to hear your reactions or suggestions for how the story plays out. I had a rough story map, but Jareth's already bogged it and decided to do his own thing (sigh…so melodramatic).

 **Honoria Granger:** I see why you say the comment about the betting was confusing in the last chapter. I've revised the wording slightly, and hopefully brought some clarity. Appreciate the input.

 **kellyn1604:** Jareth was pretty snarky and egotistical in the movie. I wanted to explore that side of him a little more. Stay tuned…

Sunday…and snowing. Sarah lay dozing on the couch, one hand tucked under a couch pillow, the other hanging off the couch, just touching the book she'd been reading, which now lay spine side up on the floor. Saturday had been enjoyable, though tiring. She'd taken the train out to her old home to see her family and to support Toby's football team in the playoffs. It never ceased to amaze her how the curly-headed blond cherub had morphed into a tall, muscular _guy_. It was amazing to see him launching himself over other football players to tackle an opponent, or darting down the field, ball tucked securely under his arm.

It had been so cold that Sarah had kept her gloved hands shoved inside her coat, and she hadn't been warm since. She'd stayed for dinner, spent the night, and taken the train back that morning. After arriving home, she'd changed into track pants and a t-shirt, flopped on the couch with a book and a glass of wine, and promptly fell asleep.

Consequently, she was oblivious to the pensive monarch who was lounging in her club chair, one leg thrown lazily over the chair's arm, chin resting on his hand. Jareth was staring at the sleeping Sarah, his brow furrowed, lost in his thoughts. This had not been his intention….. What **had** been his intention was to magic the dress for the patron's evening onto her sleeping person, and startle her awake with a sarcastic comment, his pelvis inches from her face. He always found a great deal of amusement in her discomfort with his proximity, especially when that proximity involved any kind of sexual overtone.

And yet….he'd found himself lounging in Sarah's chair observing her…..sleeping. What the devil was wrong with him? It wasn't befitting his station, his superiority as a being. He tilted his head, considering the effect of her raven hair that had fallen in waves against the white skin of her face and neck. It was a striking contrast. He imagined that both the skin and the hair felt like silk to the touch. Cursing under his breath, he looked away from the sleeping woman, resting his forehead on his hand, angry at his reaction to the sleeping Sarah. At least her eyes could not haunt him with the memory of the human girl who'd defeated his labyrinth…and rejected him.

He found that his all-consuming anger burned at more of a simmer than a boil when confronted with this Sarah. "Tch," Jareth silently admonished himself. There was a vendetta to settle, a price that must be paid for her impertinence. He did not regret what he'd caused to happen to her over the past twelve years. The more practiced dimensionals understood that one rarely reclaimed one's dignity after being completely captivated by a human. Dalliances were acceptable. After all, human were emotional, responsive, somewhat fascinating, and short-lived.

Sarah shifted in her sleep, flinging one arm against the back of the sofa, nearly missing her wine glass. Jareth waved a hand, and the glass moved silently to the far edge of the table, away from the couch. She did have a terrible tendency to slosh wine about. He rose from the chair quickly and silently, scowling at his show of weakness. _Weakness_ had been the cause of his humiliating defeat twelve years ago at the thoughtless words of a human girl, reciting lines from a silly play….about him. He smirked mirthlessly at the irony, strolling lazily to stand behind the couch, his boots silent on the wooden floors. He rested his leather-clad elbows on the couch and leaned just over her head, the longer strands of his hair lightly brushing her shoulder. He inhaled deeply just over her hair, as he'd wanted to do in the Escher room when they had begun discussions about their new agreement.

He breathed in the clean scent of her shampoo, detecting a hint of something that reminded him of warm, exotic nights in the forests of this realm. Jareth rose, closing his eyes in exasperation. "What in the name of the ancient mother is wrong with you?" he mentally chided himself. He wondered if he could bog himself, if he would be able to dissolve the stench when he'd drowned the weakness. This was madness, and unproductive. He flicked his wrist without thinking, causing the dress to appear on her bed, as none of her gowns were acceptable to be seen with him. Surveying the small apartment with glaring, mismatched eyes, his gaze rested on her wine glass. He waved his hand towards the glass, which became a golden goblet. The foul liquid had been replaced with one of his best vintages. Sarah should come to understand the superiority of his realm and everything in it. Jareth flicked his wrist and disappeared.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.- 

Sara woke by degrees, eyes fluttering open and closed at intervals, relishing every minute of sleep she could get. Finally, she stretched languidly, and propped herself up on her elbows. Catching sight of the window, she realized it was evening. "Super, Williams. You slept the day away." She groaned as she sat up, groggily pulling her hair back and securing it with the clip that had fallen out while she was sleeping. She rubbed her hands over her face and glanced back at the time on the microwave. Perfect. She had to be at work in less than twelve hours, and she hadn't even unpacked her overnight bag.

"Crap!" she moaned, remembering that she'd agreed to be the unfortunate victim of Val and Antonio's dinner tomorrow evening. She hadn't even picked an outfit, and she definitely didn't want to come back to her apartment and have to trek back into the city. Why had she agreed to it? She hated blind dates, and it **was** a blind date, no matter how much Val danced around it and sprinkled it with sunshine. Sarah sat for a moment, being generally cranky and irritated, until she finally woke up completely…..and sensed that something just wasn't right.

She glared at the coffee table. How had her wine glass moved to the far edge? When she'd begun reading, she'd left it just within reach. She also realized that it **wasn't** her wine glass. The chalice-like cup was a golden hue, with ornate carvings of vines and gargoyle faces adorning the stem. No, not gargoyle faces…goblin faces! Sarah stood suddenly, her blanket falling to the floor and approached the goblet tentatively. There was a liquid in it, though it looked to be darker than the reds she usually drank. She carefully grasped the goblet with both hands and held it under her nose. "Oh my god," she whispered hoarsely. She'd never experienced such an intoxicating oaky aroma (were there oak trees Underground?), and something spicy she couldn't quite place – but it worked. Oh, it worked. She began to bring the goblet to her lips, when she had a sudden, unsettling thought.

Had **he** been here? While she was sleeping? Had she drooled? Oh, god, had he seen her in her track pants and t-shirt? That would be an **excellent** way to begin their…game? Challenge? She could see him smirking over her now, watching her drool on her pillow, encouraging his goblins to laugh at her track suit. "Egotistical jerk," she thought. Her head snapped towards the small hallway, as she thought she saw a shadow dart past. Slowly, she set the goblet on the table and tentatively crept towards the short hallway. Hearing squeaky giggling and a pouncing sound coming from her bedroom, she moved against the wall and peeked around the door frame. On her bed was a small green goblin with yellow eyes, jumping joyfully on her bed…..wearing her beige chenille sweater that covered most of its body, looking like a bouncing sack. Then, she saw the dress.

Sarah jerked her head back into the hall, furrowing her brow in frustration, tears forming at the corners of her eyes. Things were definitely out of control, and she didn't think they would get better anytime soon. Hello, happy pills.


	8. Staring Blankly

**Disclaimer:** If I had been intelligent and driven enough to harness time-space travel, I would own Labyrinth. As it stands, I was ambitious enough to get the mail today….don't own it.

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" _The loneliest moment in someone's life is when they are watching their whole world fall apart, and all they can do is stare blankly."  
\- F. Scott Fitzgerald, __The Great Gatsby_ _  
_

 **A/N:** For anyone who is still reading this, my apologies for the delay. I have no credible excuse.

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Sarah had purposefully worn a black, figure-hugging dress and high-heeled black leather boots to work so that she wouldn't have to change before going on the tortuous blind date with Val, Antonio, and….Brad, whoever he was. She'd quickly braided her hair that morning and secured it in an up-do, figuring it would be a quick, easy way to get some body when she let it down for the evening. Sarah sighed as she gathered her belongings into a bag and prepared for the three-block hike to Val's apartment. Val had argued that there was no sense in Sarah lugging her stuff around during the date; she might as well leave it at her apartment, and spend the night as well, since Sarah was doing her a favor. Sarah had reluctantly agreed. "It would be nice to have an extra hour of sleep," she mused, as Val's apartment was so close to the museum, courtesy of a bigger paycheck and a trust fund.

Sarah sighed, as she headed to the museum's employee entrance to meet Val. It really wasn't this "Brad" guy's fault. She resolved to plaster on a smile and try to be bearable, possibly enjoying the evening herself. Shifting her bags to one shoulder on the elevator, she unpinned her hair and ran her fingers through the long, silky lengths. Once she and Val reached Val's apartment, she touched up her makeup to accentuate her startling green eyes, and appraised that she was as ready as she'd ever be for the type of date that no one should ever have to go on at her age. As Sarah primped in the mirror, she thought back to when she'd prepared for her second confrontation with the Goblin King. This felt eerily similar. She paused while applying her lip gloss, wondering if he would make an appearance. "Surely not," she thought, "he would promptly be put away for his taste in clothes alone."

She laughed to herself, "as if this isn't one big, bizarre cluster anyway." Val slid in front of the bathroom door wearing a short black dress and knee-length leather boots. "Ta-da," she sang, circling in front of the door, "what do you think?" Sarah sighed in resignation, noting how Val's silvery, blond, curly locks contrasted against her dark ensemble. "I give up. You didn't tell me you were wearing black, too…white flag." Val released a deep, sultry laugh, "Really, Sarah! We are two hip, gorgeous women, setting the city on fire. Now, stop your moaning!" Val grabbed Sarah's arm, her pink lips turned up in a determined smile, dragging her towards the elevator. Sarah smiled half-heartedly, rolling her eyes mentally. "Here we go," she thought, "keep it together, Williams."

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Jareth lounged in his throne, one leg thrown lazily over an armrest, one arm propped on the other armrest, a crystal in his hand. He was gazing intently into the crystal with a devious grin, his mismatched eyes glinting mischievously. "Hmmm….," he mused, tilting his head slightly, "the helping hands are particularly enthusiastic today." On hearing this pronouncement, several small, bumpy goblins wearing various items they had stolen from the king's "victims" began crowding around the base of the throne, launching themselves skyward excitedly in an attempt to be eye-level with their king. "Idiot see!" demanded one especially exuberant goblin, orange tufts of hair escaping from the pan on his head that was tied to him with the cord from a cell phone charger.

Jareth continued to study the scene in the crystal, oblivious to the pleas of his subjects, until one of them grabbed the king's boot in the excitement. The goblins crowding around the throne froze immediately, one of the more diminutive specimens halting in mid-crawl over another's head. Every being in the throne room except the king seemed to draw in a terrified ragged breath in unison. Jareth felt the violation of his royal person in the form of an electric current. The crystal disappeared. His thin lips curled into a snarl as he rose from the throne purposefully, a riding crop appearing in his hand. He thrust the riding crop in the offending goblin's face, and the goblin, whose face had contorted into a mask of indescribable terror, disappeared. Every goblin in the room knew _exactly_ where the poor fellow had gone.

A squeaky voice breathed, "poor Gobshite," as Jareth turned quickly to the speaker, grabbing the goblin by the throat and hurling her unceremoniously out the window. The sound of the goblin squealing with glee as she was launched out the window ceased in mid-squeal with no explanation. Jareth rounded on the remaining goblins and glared at them darkly as he whacked the riding crop against his boot. "Would anyone care to join them?" he asked casually, in sharp contrast with the irritation evident in his expression. The goblins began screeching and screaming, throwing themselves on the throne room floor "No, no majesty!" Jareth's head began to pound. He flicked his wrist and the throne room was empty…and quiet.

Jareth regarded the empty throne room with satisfaction. One shouldn't allow one's subjects to get too far out of hand. He made a mental note to institute unpredictable bogging instances as a standard practice. He strode thoughtfully to the arched window and stood regally before it, tapping one boot with the riding crop, his thin lips pressed into a slight frown, eyes clouded in thought. The wisher would not make it, and he had more important concerns at the moment. It would simply be a matter of a few hours - Jareth spun one black-gloved finger clockwise in a circle….one hour until he would add to his goblin horde.

There was much to do – an Underground festival to plan, humans to manipulate for the patron's evening, and that didn't even include his intention of dropping in on Sarah and her friends at dinner that evening. A fanged smile suddenly appeared on his face at the thought. He would cause Sarah to baste in her own fear as their challenge played out. It didn't matter when she would break, whether it was at the patron's evening or at the Underground festival. Toying with her and possibly humiliating her both above and below ground would just be a pleasant bonus. Jareth made a mental note to keep the Elven prince as far away from Sarah as possible. Uncontrollable variables would not be tolerated in his carefully-crafted scheme. He'd planned so long, he'd come so far…Jareth whacked the riding crop across his hand to dispel the familiar tune that began to play in his mind.

Following his brief show of weakness on the previous evening in Sarah's apartment, he'd returned to the castle, railing at himself for the pitiful display. Some of the more intelligent goblins had only recently emerged from their hiding places. Taking the air as soon as he'd returned, he'd dominated the sky of his realm, screeching threateningly as he swooped low over his subjects' heads. Later, he'd sat against the wall of the Escher room, replaying Sarah's rejection over and over in a memory crystal, disciplining his insubordinate thoughts and fanning the flames of his fury against the girl….woman.

Jareth pulled himself from his reverie. Tonight was the immediate concern. "Cretin!" he summoned impatiently, "Bogbreath!" Two large goblins as tall as a human appeared in the throne room. Jareth turned and crossed his arms, smiling savagely at the goblins, who looked as though they were unsure as to whether they should smile in imitation of their king, or launch themselves out of a window to escape his wrath. "I seem to recall," he drawled, one finger tapping his chin "that the both of you have an affinity for human whiskey." The goblins stared at one another in confusion. Jareth rolled his eyes in exasperation. "Human gold water," he clarified. This elicited smiles and grunts of approval from the two goblins. "What we have to do for human gold water?" Bogbreath asked, his fleshy, green snout twitching in anticipation.

"Oh, not much. It does involve your favorite pastime, terrifying humans," Jareth divulged. He flicked his wrist, and his image appeared to change to that of a modern human male. He stood, leaning on one jean-covered leg, hands resting half-in and half-out of the pockets, dark shirt unbuttoned at the top. The only things he did not change was the length of his hair, which was smoothed and gathered in a band at the base of his neck, and his piercing, dilated pupil. He didn't want to completely forget who she was facing. The goblins made grunting sounds of approval at his magical display. "You, my fine goblins, are going to help me terrorize a human girl," he smiled, breaking into unbridled laughter. The goblins looked at him expectantly, as he suddenly stopped laughing and contemplated them, one haughty eyebrow raised questioningly. Eyes widening in realization, they both began to laugh uproariously, their monarch joining in.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.—

Sarah stared at her wine glass, distracted, turning it incessantly with her slim, white fingers. Across the bistro table, Val and Antonio were talking animatedly about his most recent architecture project, Val simpering and fluttering her lashes intermittently. Val and Antonio had chosen a trendy bistro on top of a wall of windows displaying a breathtaking view of the city. Sarah had purposefully chosen a seat on the side of the table facing away from the windows, as wide-open views, especially those 40 floors up, tended to fuel her anxiety. They had been there for 20 minutes, and the mysterious Brad had yet to show. Sarah mused that he had probably realized he was about to go on a blind date with a museum curator, and decided to have his eyebrows plucked instead. She snorted in amusement.

Antonio apologized for the thousandth time, when his cellphone rang. He stepped away to take the call, and Sarah pled her case to Val. "Seriously, Val. You know he's not coming. Why don't you and Antonio just enjoy the evening? David has extra keys to my apartment. You can just bring my stuff in with you, or I can pick it up after work tomorrow." Val grimaced gracefully at Sarah. "Have a little faith, my skeptical Sarah," she chided, shaking her finger at her friend, and delicately biting off the edge of a small piece of salmon. Sarah sighed – not only was she forced to endure this painful charade, but she had to endure it in a restaurant that didn't actually have real food, except for small slivers of edible things that were outrageously expensive.

Antonio soon returned to the table, running his hand through his dark hair in embarrassment. "That was Brad," he stated, sliding back into his chair. "He's been detained with a client, and isn't sure he'll be able to make it." Sarah smiled in satisfaction, assured that her assumption was correct.

"Sarah!" a velvety voice called out, as she felt a slight bump against her chair. "I thought that was you," the voice continued in a sultry, male British accent. Sarah's eye twitched involuntarily, as she registered a thought that perhaps she was having a stroke. It seemed to take at least a full minute for Sarah to turn her head to look up at the owner of the voice, though she knew without a doubt who she would see. There was only one voice like that. His blond hair was slightly smoothed and pulled back, accentuating his unique, other-worldly features. He had completed his foray into modern human culture with a slight goatee, an earring, and a sophisticated casual urban style of clothing.

He smirked at her expression, her mouth half open and eyes wide, a similar expression to the one she'd worn at the masquerade ball. He forced his face into a mask of friendly features, though Sarah could see and almost _feel_ the malevolent glint his eyes. Jareth glanced brightly up at Val and Antonio, extending his hand, as he knew many humans did in greeting. "Hi, I'm Jareth, an old friend of Sarah's," he drawled confidently, quickly shaking hands with Antonio and Val in turn. Antonio, suave gentleman that he was, rose slightly to shake Jareth's hand, motioning at the empty seat at the table. "Please, join us," he insisted. Sarah, mouth still half-open, furrowed her brow at the invitation, shocked that her friends had just invited her mortal enemy to join them for dinner.

Val, noticing that Sarah's mouth was hanging open, nudged her foot under the table. She could only assume that this Jareth was a former boyfriend, given the way Sarah was behaving. Sarah abruptly closed her mouth and tried to smile convincingly as Jareth took the chair beside her, brushing her arm as he sat, sending a small jolt through her arm. "So," chirped Val, "how did you two meet?" Sarah gripped the stem of her wine glass so violently she thought the stem would break. Jareth motioned to a waiter, indicating that he would have the same drink that Antonio was drinking, then glanced at Sarah innocuously. "We worked with abandoned children together many years ago," he stated matter-of-factly. Every muscle in Sarah's body tensed as Jareth threw his arm around the back of her chair.

Sarah immediately and discretely began calculating the exit possibilities. The one exit that did not involve hurling herself off of a forty-story balcony was guarded by two, large, green, disgusting-looking goblins, who were grinning at her (if it could be called grinning), and throwing back copious amounts of dark amber drink.


	9. If I Cannot Inspire Love

**Disclaimer:** I work for pennies. I go to school full-time. Honestly, if I sold everything I own, it might amount to around $200. **Srsly?** Don't own it. Hedgewort even said so.

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" _If I cannot inspire love, I will cause fear!"  
\- Mary Shelley, __Frankenstein_ _  
_

* * *

Sarah concentrated on Val's face to keep from thinking about the fact that the Goblin King - the _Goblin King_ was sitting beside her – _very close beside her_ – with his arm on the back of her chair, occasionally brushing against her back. Val was explaining some of Sarah's work on the upcoming _Cells_ exhibition. He turned towards her, not that he left much room for turning and asked innocently, "So, what do you think of the artwork, Sarah? I rarely hear you talk about your work," his blue eye glinting in the low light of the restaurant. Having him _this_ close was unnerving, his jeans brushing against her stocking-covered leg, the hand that was thrown across the back of her chair almost imperceptibly caressing her shoulder or her hair, and the enticing other-worldly scent of him enveloping the space.

Sarah sat up straighter, smoothed a stray strand behind her ear, and tossed her hair slightly to give herself time to formulate a reply. She steeled herself, looked Jareth straight in the eyes, and concentrated on concealing her nervousness, opting instead for disinterest. " _Cells_ is quite fascinating, actually. They are self-contained installation works; some are small enclosures, others are actual rooms." Disinterest was extraordinarily difficult to feign when his strange eyes were boring into hers only inches away. "Each cell visually represents a..." "Fear," he stated, finishing her sentence. He tilted his head slightly, grinning at her so that his canines were just visible between his thin lips. "See, Sarah? I'm not the complete philistine you like to accuse me of being."

He turned back towards Val and Antonio, feigning a wounded ego. "Sarah thinks I'm a bit of a rogue, don't you, Sarah?" he asked innocently, hugging her towards him as if they'd been best friends for years. If she hadn't been so unsettled she would have laughed out loud at her thought, "The Goblin King, my new BFF..." Antonio raised his glass in an approving gesture towards Jareth. "They say they want a nice, cultured guy, but we know the truth, my friend," he winked, taking a drink. Sarah began to notice that her body was responding to Jareth's proximity in ways she recognized and feared.

Every time the arm around her shoulder brushed against her hair or back, she felt small, not unpleasant electrical sensations like someone was caressing the base of her neck. Even worse was when his jeans rubbed against her leg. That was probably the closest she'd been to skin-on-skin contact in a year or more. "Not helping," she silently chided her body, "Trust me, it's not what you think!" She attempted to sit up straighter to move away from him, but his arm was on her hair, and he obviously wasn't going to relent. "We must have a lesson in personal boundaries before these…events take place," she mused, in exasperation. She couldn't just call him out here – what would he do to Val and Antonio, or the whole freaking restaurant, for that matter? On second thought, they would probably just agree that she had used her last crazy card, and that she should be locked away to prevent danger to herself or others.

Surrendering to the confines of her chair (and Jareth's arm), she leaned back, plastering a sociable grin on her face, and noticed that Antonio was gazing at the both of them with an amused expression. "Oh god, no…," she thought, "He thinks we're…" A waiter ended the terrifying thought as he asked to take their orders. Antonio and Val ordered a couple of flavor-infused vodkas and some oysters. Sarah requested the entire bottle for the wine she was currently drinking, and anything the waiter recommended that happened to be chocolate; preferably Belgian. Jareth ordered a very pricey whiskey.

After the waiter left, Val looked up from her drink, wide-eyed, as if she'd just had the most amazing thought. She gestured gracefully towards Jareth. "This is perfect! You should come to the patron's evening at the museum next week. It's this chic thing we do for our more _generous_ patrons and executive members – very exclusive, but we can get you in." Jareth grinned and replied, "That is an outstanding idea. Actually, Sarah and I had discussed the possibility, but now that I have an open invitation…," he trailed off, gazing purposefully at Sarah. Val clasped her hands together in satisfaction. "Done!" she exclaimed, as if she'd effortlessly solved all of the woes in the world. "The theme is ' _A Winter Masquerade,'_ black tie-style, of course."

Sarah nearly choked on her last swallow of wine as an immeasurable number of crude expletives coursed through her mind. "You know, love," Jareth purred with false concern, "You're supposed to drink it, not _breathe_ it." Sarah wondered if he had contrived the invitation. Of course he had. He had _compelled_ Val to invite him, and Val would have kicked his supernatural ass if she'd known. And just **three** days ago, the theme had been, " _A Winter Gala_." "Oh," she thought in realization. Now, the dress and accessories he'd left at her apartment made perfect sense. She'd assumed it was intended for one of the "events," and now she knew…..and, it was a perfect dress for the occasion.

Suddenly, Antonio rose and held his hand out to Val. "Let's step out on the ledge. It's a gorgeous, clear night, and you've been bugging me for days about it. I'll get them to bring the drinks and oysters out near the heaters." Val jumped up and threw her coat around her with what might have been called a squeal, except, Sarah mused, it was Val, and Val _did not_ squeal. The "ledge" was the large, scenic balcony just outside the wall of windows. Val loved the expansive views of the city, especially at night. Sarah wanted nothing to do with it, knowing she'd probably have an aneurysm if she went out there….forty stories up.

"Have fun, you kids," Antonio waved over his shoulder. Val gave Sarah a knowing wink as they walked away and mouthed "Don't leave!" Sarah shot her a look with daggers in her eyes for leaving her alone with Jareth. Val just laughed and continued out to the ledge with Antonio. Sarah's heart was racing. It was difficult to be so near him with Antonio and Val there, but manageable. Even though he'd given her back a little space, she felt suffocated, and concentrated on taking deep, slow breaths, while twisting her wine glass between her sparkly, French manicured fingers (just for Brad!). A waiter set a whiskey in front of Jareth, who waved his hand in dismissal, almost forgetting himself.

Jareth chuckled inwardly as he took a drink and gazed out of narrowed eyes at his prey. Things had gone _very_ well. The Val woman was easy to manipulate, as was Antonio. Sarah was falling apart, piece by piece. A little more…nudging, and she'd be completely unbalanced for the "patron's evening" thing, which would hopefully result in a panic attack, and his claiming control of her as a subject of his realm. He considered the amber liquid in his glass, cocking his head to the side and swirling the drink gently. "The damned goblins were right about this whiskey drink."

The only thing he had not anticipated was Sarah's reaction to his invasion of her personal space. Not the initial tension and panic – that was his objective, but the heat he'd felt emanating from her when he'd begun pushing the limits of non-friend-public-type touching. He'd also noted the slightly raised bumps (didn't they call them "goose bumps?" how droll) and fine hairs on her neck and arms when he'd grazed his hand against her hair or along her back. In his many years of experience, _that_ particular reaction with the addition of heat and quivering lips wasn't specifically tied to fear. "How interesting," he thought, filing the information away to use against her later. He wasn't really sure what to think about it at the moment, and it was not an opportune time to ruminate.

He looked back at Sarah, who was attempting to wear a hole in the table with her wine glass, and smirked. A few more nudges, and then the finale of the evening. The waiter bowed obsequiously as he set the truffles on the table and opened the wine for her to approve. As soon as the waiter left, Jareth gingerly took one of the truffles off of her plate and brazenly took a bite, sucking lightly on the chocolate. Sara glanced up at him incredulously, though she felt a wave of heat roll through her body as she watched. "You could have asked," she protested. Jareth took in the delicious flavor with a satisfied sigh, making a mental note to get a chocolatier for his castle.

"My apologies, Sarah," he explained, "I thought you were being….. _generous_ …like your patrons." Sarah ran her fingers through her hair in frustration and slowly turned to face the Goblin King, small eruptions of anger seeping through her anxiety. " **Why** …are ….you **doing** this….to me?" she said with determination. He tilted his head slightly and regarded her. _Almost time._ "Sarah, Sarah, Sarah," he admonished, "I am helping you. Remember? Your dreams?"

Sara looked down at her hands, breathed deeply, and sighed in exasperation. "So you will give them to me when the events are over, right? What I saw in the crystal?" Jareth's thin lips drew back in nearly uncontrollable mirth. "Of course, Sarah," he assured her, "What's said is said. I always follow through with the terms of the agreement." Sarah nervously fiddled with her hands, rubbing the shiny nails. Nearly a minute passed that way, Jareth staring down his nose at Sara, half-eaten truffle in his hand, waiting for the right words; Sarah, fidgeting with her fingertips and mustering her courage. She finally looked up at him, clutching the back of the chair, and imploring him with sparkling, soulful, green eyes. "You said if I agreed to the deal, you would tell me what has happened to me over the past twelve years. I would like to know," she said quietly. _Now._

He schooled his face into a docile grin. This was the beginning of the long fall for Sarah. He had waited for so long. He set the truffle on the plate, brushed off his hands, and stood holding one hand out for her to take. "Come with me, Sarah, and I'll tell you what you want to know," he said gently and reassuringly. She noted that he wasn't wearing gloves and wondered at the significance, as she'd never seen him without them. Then, she tentatively took his hand and stood. He released her hand to secure her coat around her shoulders, keeping his face expressionless and emotionless (which was usually how he _**won**_ at betting games, he pondered, recollecting the last disastrous card game with the cross-dimensionals). Jareth placed his hand on the small of her back and began gently herding her towards the wall of windows.

When she realized where they were headed, she turned to him and involuntarily grasped onto his shirt. "No, no, no, no," she pleaded quietly, attempting to avoid causing a scene. "I **cannot** go out there. I can't go any closer."

Jareth pushed away the instinct to call her out for grabbing his clothing. He clamped his arm around her and steadied her, noticing a few people seated near the windows staring at them. With a flick of his wrist, the couple at the window found something more interesting outside to watch. "Sarah," he said sternly, placing himself in front of her and holding her arms in place. "Look at me, Sarah," commanded the silvery voice. Sarah raised her head just enough so that she could see his face, but dared not look at the wall of windows. "For me to help you, you must begin facing your fears." Sarah acted as if she were about to dart towards the exit. "Sarah," his voice sing-songed, "Don't you want to know what's happened to you?" Sarah stopped fidgeting and breathed deeply, looking at the floor.

"I'm helping you take the first steps, Sarah," he reassured her, still holding her arms to her sides. "I will be with you at all times. Nothing will harm you." Sarah glanced back up to his face, her brow furrowed in fear, the pupils of her eyes nearly blotting out the lovely green irises. He lifted a hand to raise her chin. "Please trust me, Sarah," he implored. "Am I not giving you your dreams?" Jareth's thin-lipped expression conveyed concern and gentleness. If it wouldn't have been for his striking eyes and hypnotic voice, she would have sworn he was just a regular guy. "Listen to me, Sarah. Just cast your eyes down and I will lead you out – you don't even have to look. Just face this fear with me," he pleaded, "and I will tell you what I know….take the first step."

Sarah saw what she believed to be sincerity in his eyes and heard it in his voice that was ringing hypnotically through her mind, "Just trust me, Sara." He was right. She was a grown woman. She needed to face her fears to move forward, to take back her dreams. Sarah sighed deeply and nodded, closing her eyes tightly and holding out her hand for him to take. Jareth licked his lips in anticipation. He only wished he could do this in his regular attire and not the scratchy, unflattering clothing of this dimension. Ah well, sometimes, there must be…sacrifices. Jareth took her hand and began leading her to the doors that opened onto the large, glass and steel balcony known as the "ledge."

He was walking backwards, looking behind him, and back at Sarah. Her expression was priceless. Her brow was furrowed with worry, eyes squinched shut, pouting, red lips looking as if she might burst into tears at any moment, one hand grasping her coat savagely, as if it were the only thing holding her to the ground. Just lovely – he immediately recorded the image to a memory crystal. As he opened the door, a cool breeze wafted in. Sara began to tremble violently, and not from the cold. She slowed her steps and began pulling back. Jareth snapped into action. He would not allow this to be taken from him now. He immediately drew her into a tight embrace, knowing she would feel more secure with something to hold to.

No one in the restaurant seemed to think much of people freaking out at the door to the expansive balcony – there was always someone trying to get their jollies off by persuading a friend who was afraid of heights to go "out on the ledge," literally. Jareth slowly moved backwards through the door, holding Sara tightly through her coat. He allowed himself to inhale the scent of her hair – that intoxicating clean, earthy scent. Though she had hesitated at first, she eventually grasped his shirt with both hands and buried her face in his chest, allowing him to pull her slowly out to the daunting precipice.

Once he managed to get her out onto the ledge, they just stood for a moment, Jareth murmuring reassurances as she slowly lessened her grip on his shirt.

"You're doing quite well," he reassured her, inhaling her scent once more. It was time. Jareth stood slightly back from Sarah, keeping his hands on her arms to keep her subdued. He moved behind her so that she was facing the city view, her eyes closed. Sarah whimpered, feeling him move away, and clutched behind her to secure herself to the legs of his jeans. Jareth laughed quietly under his breath, and thought to himself, "So, you want my protection now, do you?"

"Sarah, _**relax**_. _**Trust**_ me. You wanted to know what happened to you, and I will tell you." His voice was strong and caressing. Anything else would have driven her back through the doors and out of the restaurant. He snaked one arm around her waist, inside her coat, and the other around her chest, where his hand lightly grasped her throat possessively. She whimpered again, one hand grabbing the wrist of the hand that held her throat. From this point on, he would ensure she went forward with eyes wide open. His plan depended on it. He quickly mused at how her skin was soft, yet firm, almost silk-like as he had imagined. _To the task at hand._

Jareth leaned his head down, breathing on her neck inside the collar of her coat. He brought his mouth beside her ear and hissed, "The reason you have this anxiety, Sarah….is because of me. I've been manipulating your friends, your _boyfriends_ , your **life** for the past twelve years, my love. My goblins have a significant pile of your belongings stored in the throne room. **I** am the reason you aren't a senior curator, the reason **none** of your pitiful relationships worked out, the reason you must cower behind your cabinets with a knife in your hand. Do you fear me **now**?" Sarah's eyes flew open in terror. Jareth very slightly tightened his grip on her waist and neck, anticipating what would come next. Overwhelmed by the height of the ledge and expansive city view, overcome with the fight-or-flight responses, Sarah sucked in a rasping breath, savagely trying to struggle from his grasp, until she collapsed against him, perfectly still.


	10. What Other People Think

**Disclaimer:** For the love of God. If you want my pittance of a paycheck from last week, please sue me; I did not earn it from writing fanfiction…even though, that's much more satisfying. (smirk)

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" _Care about what other people think, and you will always be their prisoner."_ _  
_ _\- Lao Tzu_

Sarah stared at the museum's laptop wallpaper listlessly as she leaned on the desk in her cubicle, chin resting heavily in her hand. Her normally silky, styled tresses had been carelessly pinned in a twist on the back of her head, small wisps of hair finding their way out of the clip here and there. Her face was wan, looking as if she was recovering from an illness, dark half-circles punctuating her eyes. She'd spent the past two days recovering from the state that preening, narcissistic _demon_ had put her in. She closed her eyes; her brow furrowed as if to ward off a headache.

The next time she was conscious after nearly going into cardiac arrest on the ledge was waking up terrified in her bed. She could still feel the loss of control Jareth had caused, the panicked sensation that she was about to fly off the balcony, his hold that forced her to look at the view.

She'd slowly begun to get ready for work, knowing it was unlikely she would make it the entire way; knowing she had to try. When she'd left her apartment, already an hour late for work, David noticed her condition when he'd stopped to chat, and nearly forced her right back in bed. He'd called Val and explained that Sarah wasn't feeling well, and by her appearance, would probably not be coming to work. Val had explained that Sarah's friend, Jareth, had taken her home when she became ill at a restaurant on Monday, and that Val hadn't really expected her back at work today.

David had spent about an hour fussing over her before he had to leave for work, urging her to call him if she needed him. "Such a good friend," thought Sarah absently. After David had left, Sarah finally felt the stress and terror of the experience come crashing down in her psyche, physically manifesting in uncontrollable trembling and outbursts of screaming and tears. She'd spent the next hour or so in the shower.

The cool water ran down her supple, fair skin in drops and rivulets. The bathroom was dark, lit only by a diffused light glowing through the blinds from outside. Her hair hung drenched, plastered to her face, her back, her shoulders, as she drew into the corner of the makeshift shower as much as humanly possible, sobs occasionally wracking her body. The water was comforting; cool enough to help her drown in numbness, not cold enough to stimulate her frayed nerves. She rested her head against the tiled wall as sadness welled within her and her face involuntarily contorted in a heaving sob. The loss of control….the loss of control was a devastating thing. Especially for a grown woman who was supposed to be up-and-coming, independent…logical…an adult, for fuck's sake.

He'd suckered her in with his contrived dream crystal (probably not even _her_ dreams), his earnest words, his velvety voice, appealing to the one thing she wanted most. "What kind of sociopath does that?" she'd cried out loud. A voice in her mind answered, "One that isn't human…..but you knew that going in." She'd dropped her head between her knees, and heard a soul-wrenching, inhuman moan that she knew must be hers. How had this happened? Her autopilot conscience threw up a warning flag that her water bill was going to be outrageous. She mentally slammed it against the wall and didn't hear another word from it.

All of those things had happened on _Wednesday_. Sarah had no clue what had happened to _Tuesday._

She'd lost two days…. _ **two days**_ dealing with the aftermath. This was _Thursday_. The Winter Masquerade was _tomorrow._

Staring at her laptop screen, she noticed her reflection in the glare of the fluorescent lights. "Oh. My. God." She thought. She hadn't even put on makeup that morning. It was a wonder someone hadn't dropped her off at the morgue. "I can't do this," she groaned to herself. She didn't even know what he was playing. The irrational asshole had seemed so genuine when he's said he wanted to help her overcome her anxieties, and to get the life she'd wanted. And then to tell her that _**he**_ had been the cause of her insecurities, depression, romantic failings, and professional development delay…god knows what else. "He probably causes cancer as well," she mused.

Even more screwed up was the _way_ he told her, luring her to the ledge with gentle reassurances. His embrace had been so firm, so secure. His scent was even more evident when she'd buried her face into his shirt. She'd almost… _almost_ begun to believe that he was sincere. She had wanted to believe it. Now, just thinking of him drew sickening sensations from her stomach, as if she were going to vomit.

Val suddenly appeared at the entrance to her cube in her smart grey sheath dress, impossibly high black heels, and perfectly styled hair, tilting her blond head and jutting out her glossy pink bottom lip in a semblance of pity. Sarah wrinkled her nose. "So sorry you weren't feeling well, sweetie." "But", she said, her voice rising and eyes smiling as if announcing that Sarah had won some sort of contest, "at least you made it through the day!" Sarah managed a weak smile as she began to gather her belongings. "And wasn't it fortunate that you friend showed up, and was able to get you home? Antonio and I were so worried!" Val pronounced. Sarah mumbled something about how "fortunate" it was indeed, adding a few imaginative epithets to describe her "friend."

"So, about tomorrow," Val began business-like once more, "since you all are expected to be at the patron's evening, feel free to come in a few hours late or leave a few hours early to give you time to prepare and take care of personal business." Sarah sucked in her breath. "About the masquerade thing, Val," she began. " _Winter_ Masquerade," corrected Val. "Yeah, that," Sarah dropped her eyes. I'm not sure I will be up for it. I'm still making my way back to the living, as you can see by my lovely visage today." She gave Val a weak smile, hoping her act was convincing.

Val looked Sarah over judiciously, and gave the stock "boss" reply, "Why don't you take it easy in the morning, and I'll check back in with you around lunch?" Sarah winced slightly. "The _Cells_ exhibition is a big deal with the executives right now. It would be great if you could be there to answer questions and talk it up." Sarah nodded weakly, heading towards the door, hoping Val would take that as the cue to let her leave. She did. As Sara made her way to the elevators, she heard calls of "take some Zicam or some Airborne," as Val made her way to the next cube. Sara rolled her eyes. "Only if they ward away psychotic Goblin Kings," she retorted under her breath.

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Jareth swung the sword nimbly and powerfully to his right, effectively blocking Esu's blow, and knocking his sword to the floor. A devious snarl appeared on Esu's onyx face; he preferred hand-to-hand combat. "No magic, Erlkönig," he warned. Jareth grinned, making a show of twirling his sword from his back to his front, never taking his eyes off of Esu. Jareth lofted the sword in the air, where it flipped several times, then slowly launched back towards the practice field, stabbing blade-first into the ground, inches from Esu's foot. Esu's lip twitched in anger, though he showed no fear. In a matter of milliseconds, he reached Jareth, dropping to balance on his hands, and swinging his muscular legs into the Goblin King's frame, only, the inevitable impact never came. Esu roared in frustration, his imposing, taught, ebony frame lunging at the small table that the goblins had set up as a makeshift bar, where Jareth had suddenly appeared, pouring himself some of the whiskey that he'd brought back from the aboveground restaurant.

He held out a glass towards Esu, grinning innocently and imploring, "my friend, you _ **will**_ regret doing away with me if you do not try this mortal ambrosia first." Esu continued his charge right up to Jareth's person, stopping within inches of him, creating a breeze that blew wisps of Jareth's hair around his shoulders. Jareth was still standing at the "bar," holding out the whiskey, smirk plastered on his face. Esu, releasing his peeved expression, broke into a wide smile and roared in laughter. Their practice nearly always ended this way. Esu knew that the king was often a cheater and always a poor loser, but would never convey that to Jareth. He saw it as their game, always followed by light entertainment and a great deal of spirits. Jareth threw his head back in a slight laugh, and gestured for Esu to sit on the chaises that had been brought out. It was nearly dusk in the Underground, and the castle's practice field offered a stunning view of the Labyrinth and the Fiery Forest. The trickster god and the trickster king reclined on chaises, enjoying very choice aboveground whiskey and a stunning view.

Jareth could not cease grinning. He was full of energy. He'd been in outstanding spirits since he'd returned from meeting Sarah and her friends for dinner, where he'd revealed everything….well, almost everything. _**Never**_ reveal everything. He could barely contain his satisfaction, and had called on Esu to somewhat exorcise his restless spirit.

Everything had gone according to plan. It was as if he and Sarah had been partners in a dance, and she had played her part…perfectly. He flashed his canines at the approaching night. The whole incident had been delicious. When he'd held her completely in his possession on the metal balcony, restraining her by her throat and her waist, he'd waivered, for just a moment. The sight of her proud, white neck encircled by his hand had resulted in a sudden desire to kiss her neck, bite her neck, suck on her neck – whatever he could manage…but, then he remembered his mission. That could wait until she was a servant, which would be soon enough. This time, there would be no deviating from the plan. There would be no extraneous offer of dreams born out of desire.

Esu grunted. "Never would I want to be an ungrateful guest, my friend, but is there not usually entertainment?" Jareth rolled his eyes. "Ever the hedonist," he chuckled, snapping his fingers. A line of dancers, mostly unclothed, began to appear from the rocks on the side of the field, near the chaises. Torches were lit behind and around them by goblins scurrying from one torch to the other. The dancers twirled and leapt, contorting themselves into impossible positions for the amusement of the king and the god. "Hmm," mused Esu in his deep, resonating voice, "are they all human?" Jareth's smile deepened as he took a draught of his whisky, reclining back against the chaise, his light-colored shirt, open at the front, inviting in the cool night air. "Good eye, Esu. This time, they are. They are just missing their crowning jewel."

Esu seemed suddenly alert, sitting up on the edge of his chaise. "Jareth," he rumbled, "be wary, my friend. Your Fa lines are strumming. There is trouble ahead for you." Jareth, who had already consumed half a bottle of whiskey before Esu arrived waved off the concern with a gloved hand and stated, "My Fa lines have _**no**_ idea what I am up to."Esu shot Jareth a dark, serious look. "Someone is coming for you, Erlkönig." Jareth sighed impatiently. He'd gone to a great deal of trouble to retrieve the dancers from 19th century Paris.


	11. Don't Blink

**Disclaimer:** As of this posting (and being a poor student), I have $56.41 on my bank card and could probably scrounge together $1.50 in change. Obviously not making any money; like, eyeballing my rent due date with trepidation. Obviously don't own it; refer to previous statement regarding assets.

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" _Don't blink. Don't even blink. Blink and you're dead. Don't turn your back. Don't look away. And don't blink."_ _  
_ _\- Steven Moffat,_ _Dr. Who_ _, "Blink"_

 **A/N:** no1fin514, Honoria Granger , LovelyAmberLight, Glades - Thank you, thank you, thank you for the reviews! So glad the story has been entertaining for some readers. Any questions or clarifications will be addressed in an additional AN following the chapter.

There will be J/S eventually. Slow build. **Wait for it…wait for it** ….

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Jareth paced his balcony relentlessly, twirling his riding crop in elated anticipation. He hadn't felt this alive in years. A grin was etched on his face, and he couldn't seem to replace it, even when a few of his more mischievous subjects had decided to hold an impromptu chicken auction in the main square of the Goblin City, resulting in a drunken, chaotic brawl, a mass exodus of chickens into the streets, and the city's only tavern being set ablaze. Jareth had simply appeared suddenly, righted everything, and vanished as quickly as he'd arrived. His less inebriated subjects had been rendered speechless and somewhat immobile…there had been no boggings, no royal tantrums…nothing. They weren't quite sure how to respond without having been put in fear for their lives, or at least in fear of smelling horrid for the rest of their lives. He conjured a clock to check the time and sighed. The patron's evening thing at the museum was still hours away. No use wasting energy speeding up time; he was saving every last bit of that for Sarah.

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Hands on her hips, biting her bottom lip, Sarah eyed the ostentatious dress that hung on her armoire. The silky, black fabric with diamond-like stones sprinkled throughout the material reeked of excess. "Much like its foppish owner," she pondered. The dress had a v-cut neckline that plunged lower than she cared for. Flowing sleeves flared out just below the elbow area. The bodice tapered at the waist, and the front hem looked as if it stopped just above the knees, while the back hem hung almost to the floor. Not surprisingly, the dress was _clearly_ designed to accentuate the female figure. "What am I supposed to be, a vampire?" she mused. God, she hoped not, recalling melodramatic sagas from teenage vampire series she'd watched in her early twenties. Glancing at the mask and accompanying cape-like wrap, she had a startling revelation.

The mask, which concealed the top half of the face, was covered with black silky feathers and sparkling stones that trailed out from the eye area. The wrap was covered in black feathers as well, with a jewel-encrusted chain and clasp. She was supposed to be a…a raven. She grimaced, recalling from some previous class or research that owls were natural predators of the raven. "Nice symbolism…..sadistic," she laughed aloud. She wondered if she could get away with refusing to wear it, but then thought better of it, wary of his aggressive penchant for terrifying her.

At first, she had thought she would just skip the whole thing, but he'd ensured that course of action would negatively affect her work, and her friendship with Val, neither of which she wanted to jeopardize. Val had followed up on her kindly "threat" to check in with Sara that afternoon, and was satisfied to find her alive and well, so she had no excuse there. She had resigned herself to suffer through it, distract herself with conversations about the upcoming exhibition, and consume obscene amounts of free wine near the end of the evening – she assumed that she would suddenly wake up in her bed, as usual, oblivious as to how she got back to her apartment, just as she had in her previous encounters with the volatile Goblin King. "Not very dramatic," she mused, "Very un-Goblin King-like."

Sarah was nervous, but stoic. This would be the first time she had seen him since the incident on the ledge, and she wasn't sure how she would react. She tensed at the thought. The more she'd thought about the incident, the more incensed she'd become. It had basically been an all-out assault on her psyche and her person. Was it _**really**_ because she'd bested his Labyrinth….because she'd turned down his offer? What had been the true intent of the….original offer? It all seemed liked a drug-induced dream…without peaches. Sarah sighed. It wasn't likely he would willingly give up the answer to any of those questions, but she was determined to find out more about his motives – the only way should could muster an effective defense…or a counterattack. No, a counterattack probably wasn't wise.

As the cherry on her sundae of a day, she'd come home from work to find a squat, green goblin with orange hair bouncing on her sofa. After recovering from the shock, she'd slung her bags on the floor and huffed, " **Well**? What do you want? My keys? My food? My sanity?" The goblin's yellow eyes opened wide in surprise as it stood completely still and squeaked, "Car come at seven," and then disappeared with a crackle. Freaky little things. At least he'd had the decency to arrange for suitable transportation...probably wanted to ensure she wouldn't use a delayed train or crowded subway as an excuse. "Ok Williams," she braced herself, "Time to do what must be done." Resolutely drawing in a long, steady breath, she headed to shower.

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The car arrived promptly at seven; a long, shiny black affair that resembled a pimped-out urban assault vehicle in Sarah's mind more than it did a "car" or even a limousine. She rolled her eyes as the chauffeur secured the door. Leave it to Jareth. She kept forgetting his proclivity for the dramatic, even though she was _wearing_ a reminder of said proclivity.

The haunting, hypnotic music with a subtle techno beat echoed through the lobby floor of the museum where the event was being held. She stopped just inside the lobby, taking in the effect of the décor she'd helped to set up earlier that day. It was breathtaking. The usual harsh lighting had been dimmed, and crystal "icicles" had been hung strategically throughout the large open lobby that soared upward for several floors. Stage lights had been trained on the crystals to send sparkling shards of light throughout the lobby.

In the middle of the lobby, up-lit in blue was an intricate ice sculpture. Sarah gasped, noticing that the original design for the sculpture, which had been a complex pattern of snowflakes, had been replaced with a depiction of dancers at a masquerade ball, complete with masks, except for one figure in the center of the display…Sarah gasped, recognizing the resemblance to the figurine in her music box, and to her dress from the previous masquerade ball. The figure's face was frozen in a look of surprise. She also recognized the character behind the unmasked female figure, placed directly behind her, grinning wickedly over her shoulder, hand grasping the base of her neck. _Marvelous._

Sarah sought out Val, subconsciously looking for an anchor in anticipation of the coming maelstrom, wondering when the "games would begin," so to speak. As she'd expected, Val's costume was almost as flamboyant as she'd imagined Jareth's would be. In spite of the chill, Val was wearing a dark blue, silk sleeveless dress with sparkling jewels (Sarah guessed they were most likely authentic diamonds) sewn into the material. Her mask was a spray of peacock feathers with various jewels surrounding the eye holes. Sara mused that the peacock feathers were especially suitable, given the wearer.

Val recognized her immediately and entwined her arms around one of Sarah's. She'd obviously already hit the bar. " _ **Sarah**_ ," she cried, "you look _**amazing**_." Sarah grimaced politely at the assumption that she didn't _normally_ look amazing, and even more so that she looked amazing in Jareth's deviant version of a dress. "So, where is your friend, Jared?" inquired Val, surveying the room. Sarah snickered inwardly at Val's mistaking Jareth's name, reminded of his annoying inability to remember Hoggle's name. Jareth would have been livid. "Oh, I am _**positive**_ he will make an appearance shortly," Sarah assured her. Val patted her arm encouragingly, grabbed a glass of champagne off a passing waiter's tray. "I've got to go chat up Dr. Schwartzman. You should be mingling, sweetie!" she chirped as she headed back into the crowd, flashing her perfect smile.

"Peacock indeed," Sarah thought, smiling, as she made her way to the bar. She secured a glass of wine and leaned up against a column to watch those who were dancing and to begin a merciful descent into inebriation as she waited for Jareth. Her eyes were immediately drawn to an attractive couple who were moving beautifully together to the pulsing music. The woman was slim with golden skin, a taut body, and a mass of beautiful, chocolate-colored hair that bounced when she moved. She wore a tight, glittery, green dress, and a mask with some kind of sparkling green and golden stones. Sarah felt a slight stab of jealously; the woman was ridiculously gorgeous.

Her partner was dressed in an obviously pricey tuxedo; one that did _not_ call to mind goofy prom dates and awkward groomsmen as many tuxedos often did. He could have been an ad for why men _should_ wear tuxedos more often; maybe just a Hugo Boss ad in general. The fit emphasized his lithe, muscular frame, as he gyrated slowly behind his partner in moves that seemed choreographed. Sarah blushed slightly, and glanced around to see if anyone was else noticed their display, but no one appeared to. The lapels of his tuxedo looked to be silk, and his mask was adorned with silky white feathers that gathered in upward-turned points at the edges.

She gripped the stem of her glass as the mask, the man's form, and the smoothed-back blond hair triggered a revelation – the Goblin King had arrived. She could _not_ physically tear her eyes from the spectacle, as he reached down to run a white, gloved hand up the woman's thigh, coming to rest on her hip. His other arm wound around the woman's stomach, as mismatched eyes stared directly into Sarah's. His face was expressionless. She blinked several times, feeling a heat rush through her body, unable to look away, as he all but ravished this woman in front of her… _and her co-workers, and the patrons!_ Although, she realized no one else seemed to paying attention to them.

Her brain conjured a childhood memory of the snake from the _Jungle Book_ , whose eyes hypnotized his victims until he could suffocate and eat them. It felt as if she were forced to maintain eye contact with him as he pulled the woman's hair to one side, leaned down slightly and _licked her neck._ Sarah breathed in sharply. Anger and something else she _**refused**_ to name burned in the pit of her stomach. She felt violated that he was manipulating her physical responses – he'd already taken her self-control.

Somewhere in the back of her mind, she noted that though his current behavior would elicit many things from her, a panic attack, in this particular instance, was not one of them. Then she mentally slapped herself for the thought, reminding herself of the sickening things he had done to her – plaguing her for twelve years of her life, taking her dreams, causing her to _**pass out**_ on the ledge.

As the song ended, Jareth effortlessly spun the woman to face him, kissed the back of one hand, and sauntered towards Sarah.

"Good evening, Sarah," he effused with mock cheerfulness, "I hope your ride in was satisfactory." She grimaced at him in return, wanting nothing more than to fling her wine on his pretty, white-feathered mask and run.

He crossed his arms and titled his head slightly, assessing her. "The dress suits you," he smirked, "you make a _delicious_ -looking raven." Sarah gulped and steeled herself, taking a rather large swallow from her glass. "You could have _killed_ me," she said quietly and sadly, "on the ledge…you could have killed me." His smirk was not reflected in his alien eyes through the owl mask, as he brought his face to within inches of hers and responded in a low, forceful voice, " **Yes.** I _could_ have, but I didn't. You know what I am capable of, Sarah. Had I wanted you dead…" The rest of that statement was implied, and understood.

"So the cleaners could have killed me?" she pressed, wondering how many questions he would answer before he shut this down. He glared through the eye holes of the mask, then straightened himself regally. "As a runner, you were under my protection in my kingdom. You were **never** in any _real_ danger," he snapped. "And now?" she asked. His smirk disappeared and he was again expressionless. "You are not in my kingdom, and you are **not** under my protection," he hissed.

He stood for a moment, seeming to gather himself, then grasped Sarah by the elbow, and began steering her towards a small crowd of people where Val was the center of attention, talking animatedly. The innocuous smile was plastered back on his face. "Now, go play your part, Sarah," he said pleasantly, stopping at the edge of the crowd, " _Mingle."_ Sarah was somewhat in awe at the rapid transformation the fae king could make from one mood to another. He was worse than Karen had ever been.

Val looked relieved to See Sarah's feather-covered face appear at the edge of the small group. "This," she said, pulling Sarah to the center of the group, "is Sarah Williams, the amazing, tireless, curator who has been master of the puppet strings for this exhibition." Sarah smiled graciously as a few of the bystanders made noises of approval; some lightly clapped. One older gentleman with a shock of unruly white hair and heavy-rimmed vintage glasses lightly took her elbow and asked, "How did you decide which pieces to include in this particular exhibition?"

She noticed Jareth now wore a self-satisfied grin as his eyes pierced her through the holes of the mask. The eeriness of it made her think of Batman peering out from his mask. She shook off the thought and responded to the man. " _Cells_ is quite a complex collection of work. As you may know, some of the pieces are smaller, almost box-sized, while others can take up an entire room; so, size had to be one consideration for the space we had for the installation…" she trailed off as she noticed that nearly everyone in the small group was regarding her with a confused expression. She plowed on, "of course we wanted ' _The Last Climb;" it's the most popular piece and is nearly unobtainable, so obviously, that had to figure into the decision."_ The small group of patrons and the executive cabinet were still staring at her as if she'd grown two heads and done a fan dance with her feather mask. Val sucked in a breath, and grabbed Sarah's arm, steering her away from the crowd and chirped over her shoulder, "Sarah's been working so hard – that was a surprise for a new exhibition! Please excuse us!" Val herded her to a corner and looked at her incredulously, even through the peacock mask. "Sarah! What was **that**?" she nearly screeched, hands gesturing wildly. Sarah glanced at the small group, confused, and then back at Val. "I'm not sure I understand, Val," she said tentatively, "I was just asking questions about the _Cells_ exhibit. Remember? You're the one who wanted me to do this." Val grimaced in a near pout. "I gathered that you were rambling on about _Cells_ ; I just wondered _**why**_ , and so did the patrons and cabinet members, I'm sure, since the current exhibit is the most publicized we've ever had…. _ **Picasso, Sarah!**_ " Val was obviously livid; Sarah was completely confused. A vein on Val's right temple began pulsing slightly as she threw her hands in the air. "Auuugh! Picasso!" she cried in exasperation, storming away.

She smelled the earthy, woody, and something-else smell before she saw him. Suddenly, Jareth was at her side, chuckling at her faux pas through thin lips, obviously amused. A sudden thought struck her as she quickly rounded on him, green eyes blazing through the black-feathered mask, dark, pitch-black hair swinging violently around her shoulders. "You!" she growled, about to push her finger into his chest. Her continued wariness caused her to think better of touching him, though anger began to boil away at the anxiety that had encompassed her whole being for the past twelve years.

He tilted his head in his owl-like way, and purred sarcastically, "Whatever _do_ you mean, Sarah?" Her brain half registered his animal-like movement that matched the mask he wore and she blinked to keep her focus. "You changed the exhibit." He sighed, as if she tried his patience. "Exhibits change all the time, Sarah. _Surely_ , you would be aware of that in your type of work." "If I even still have a job," she half-thundered. "Sarah, Sarah, Sarah," he chided, tapping his finger against his chin. "I daresay that is not the tone you use with a….friend. If you remember, that was one of the stipulations of our… _deal,"_ hemaintained.

Sarah furrowed her brow behind her mask. Just what the fuck was really going on here? She crossed her arms determinedly and bit the inside of her bottom lip, considering Jareth. She had pushed a lot of the knowledge about the Underground and its monarch out of her consciousness, but it had all come crashing back in the past week. As selfish, unbalanced, and unmovable as she knew Jareth to be, she reasoned that he would take away everything she currently _had_ if she let him. She steeled herself as she looked him the eye, mask to mask, took a deep breath, and began her speech.

"Look Jareth…I'm still not sure what you want from me, but if you haven't noticed, I'm an adult. I have a job, responsibilities. If this is all I get; what I have now, then I'm ok with that. I'm calling off our deal." She pulled off her mask and held it to his chest, waiting for him to take it….but he never did.

Jareth **blinked**. Sarah saw no emotion in the hypnotic eyes, but she did see the blink, and the small part of her that held all of her childhood fears and terrors froze in horrified anticipation. Everything and everyone around them shimmered and became immobilized in the moment; even the music stopped. It was as if they were in a vacuum. Jareth flicked his wrist and his mask disappeared. Sarah still held her mask to his chest, unsure of the safest course of action.

He grasped her around her neck and back her up against the wall. "Do not ever refer to me by my familiar name unless we are in the company of humans aboveground who do not know me," he hissed, his expression similar to the one she remembered from the first encounter in the Escher room, thin-lipped and cruel. "The only acceptable forms of address you may use are 'Your Majesty,' or 'Your Highness," He slowly released her throat, allowing one gloved finger to trail down the v-cut in her dress, and said maliciously, "Since you have _failed_ to honor the terms of our agreement, we will away to the Underground immediately." Sarah's chin dropped. "Wha..what do you mean… _ **we**_?" she nearly whispered. Jareth reached into his tuxedo jacket and produced a small rolled-up scroll. He flicked the top of the scroll inches from Sarah's face, causing the document to unroll itself. "Look at the terms Sarah. If you _**will not**_ complete the terms of our agreement, you forfeit, which means, of course, I _**win**_. If you _**cannot**_ complete the terms of the agreement, then I _**win**_." He showed his pointed teeth as he smiled at that statement. "If I win, I will ensure you are treated by the most competent healers of my race for your…condition." Sarah wrinkled her nose, confused and not a little bit frightened. "But, why is it such a big deal that your healers treat me? Why would that be a "win" for you?" she asked softly.

"Oh, Sarah," he admonished, securing her mask back onto her face gently, "For my healers to treat you, you would have to go to the Underground, and you would have to become a citizen of my realm," he chuckled, allowing one gloved finger to drop from the mask to trace the line of her cheek down to her chin. Realization crashed down on Sarah as Jareth flicked his wrist and unfroze the scene. Voices continued from their pause in mid-sentence, the music picked up from the exact same beat, drinks fell from mid-pour into waiting glasses, but Sarah was a million miles away from all of it.

He donned his mask of polite indifference again, leaning down to look straight into Sarah's eyes through their feathered masks, asking, "Do you forfeit?" A sound like an electronic device shorting out went off in Sarah's brain, as she grasped for direction and reason. The one thought that did seem to erupt into some coherence was that she could not give in to him. She shuddered, her hair falling around her face like a curtain. "You have no.." Jareth narrowed his eyes and laid a finger on her lips to silence her. "Now you know that's not true."

Suddenly, he tugged her close to him. "Dance with me, Sarah. Isn't that what _friends_ do at aboveground events such as this one?" She sighed, asking "Do I forfeit if I don't?" He smiled and tilted his head, and she knew what he meant. "Fine," she breathed. He led her to the dance area, and she began to move sullenly with the mesmerizing, understated, techno-beat, hoping no one would notice her. Jareth executed some choreographed-type shuffling moves that were subtle, yet worked with the music. Sarah noticed several of the women giving him an appreciative glance. She rolled her eyes, and wondered when she could just back to her apartment and curl up with Ben and Jerry, and Kendall-Jackson.

Jareth moved behind her, slipped his hands to her hips, and began guiding them to match the beat of the music. At first, she panicked, but then she began to lose herself in the thumping music and the feeling of her body moving in time with the beat. Jareth nearly laughed out loud, recognizing the opportunity to enact the next step in his plan. He removed his hands from her hips, bending slightly to place one finger at her knee moving upwards toward her thigh, and using his other hand to brush her hair away from her neck. He knew the image of the other woman she'd seen him dancing with would still be in her mind, and she would know what was coming next.

Sarah felt his finger begin to trace up her thigh, while his other hand brushed the hair away from her neck. She began to panic, as she remembered the Goblin King performing the exact same move on the gorgeous woman she'd seen him dancing with. She remembered what came next in that sensual dance – the neck, his tongue… Sarah **blinked.** She yelped as she pulled away from him, tripping over a couple who had just entered the dance area, and falling onto the ice sculpture, breaking one of the intricate figurines.

Suddenly, Sarah's predicament had made her the center of attention. Val stood by the bar, blond locks shaking, as she brought her hand to her mouth. Some of the others bemoaned the destruction of one of the sculpture's figurines. The older man who had questioned Sarah about the exhibit earlier just stared at her as if she'd crawled out of the ocean and he was trying to determine what she was.

Sarah hoisted herself onto her elbows around shards of ice. "Son of a _**bitch**_!" she hissed, dragging herself up from the mess of ice shards. Something had clicked, broken, exploded inside her when she crashed through the ice sculpture. She didn't feel a sliver of anxiety as she rose to her full height and slipped off her mask, her angular cheeks flushed, green eyes sparkling with murder, jaw set in defiance. She glared at Jareth and sailed the raven mask at him like a frisbee.

The Goblin King caught the mask on instinct, without thought. Sarah Williams, **the** Sarah Williams stood before him – he wasn't prepared for this. Jareth's mask disappeared; his hair seemed to grow instantaneously to his normal, disorderly mane, his tuxedo reverted to his customary black leather ensemble. No one would remember his changing anyway; he would see to that. His plans had gone awry. Sarah did not have a panic attack. Nor did he think he'd humiliated her. Though he was disappointed in that respect, he would not have missed seeing Sarah Williams in all her former glory.

Suddenly, Jareth felt the presence of another dimensional. He whipped around violently, but could not separate the being from all of the mortal bodies and their auras. Jareth flicked his wrist. In a flash, Sarah and Jareth were gone.

The distinguished, elderly face of one of the patrons morphed into a pale, alabaster-skinned being with pointed ears, smooth blond hair, and startling green eyes. He'd followed Jareth through the portal, and observed the way Jareth had attempted to humiliate the mortal woman. She was spirited, beautiful, touched by some kind of magic. Was this the girl that conquered his Labyrinth? She would make an excellent human pet. The Elven prince slinked down a hall and disappeared.

 **Additional A/N:**

A clarification about the gods Jareth cavorts with at the bottom of this chapter, in reply to a question in a PM. Esu is an African god, a trickster, who gets along well with Jareth, though he enjoys using the term "Erlkönig" because he knows it annoys Jareth. "Erlkönig" implies an Elven being. Esu sees fate as "Fa;" hence, "Fa" lines from Chapter 10. The Elven prince is a different being, who seems to have some rivalry with Jareth. Hopefully, I will have time to revise the previous chapters to make this clearer.


	12. Once I Was Fire

**Disclaimer:** Just turned in my research paper. Don't even own any brain cells right now….try again later.

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" _I am ashes where once I was fire."  
\- Lord Byron (George Gordon), "To the Countess of Blessington"_

 **A/N:** To the reviewers – you keep me going! , Guest, glitterfangirl, no1fin514, kellyn1604

Thank you!

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Arthion sat in the naturally-formed seat of the over-sized silvery tree roots in the Druid's forest, patiently strumming a harp as a small gathering of fairies flitted and sparkled happily to the music. Indulgent of the fairies for the incomparable intelligence they provided about the current events in other realms, the Elven prince executed the familiar notes without thinking, his mind elsewhere. His long platinum locks streaked with bright gold billowed softly in the breeze that always seemed to waft through the forest. The wood, the air, the creatures, almost seemed as if they were part of him; he communicated with them without words; without much thought, really.

His iridescent green eyes were transfixed on a point in the distance, seeing only the thoughts in his mind. Other beings often commented that they felt that his eyes were piercing _through_ them rather than gazing at them. His excursion aboveground had been…. _useful_. At first, he had simply acted on his usual curiosity to see what the theatrical fae king was up to, following him imperceptibly through a portal to the museum in the aboveground. Arthion had used his natural talents for blending in with the surroundings, shrouding his thoughts, and becoming part of the very air. Jareth had not suspected a thing until Arthion had been surprised out of his concentration by the interaction between the fae and the mortal woman (more so the _reaction_ of the woman).

Jareth had achieved the throne of the Goblin Kingdom by less than honorable means, son of a dying family of ancient fae. He had cunningly seduced citizens from the surrounding realms to increase the power of his kingdom. Every monarch knew more bodies meant more workers, and more taxes. The Elven kingdom just preferred its citizens were happy and cared for. When the defectors had decided they were not content living with goblins and being threatened with the bog of eternal stench every other night, they attempted to return to their kingdoms. A few indispensable subjects, Arthion's father had allowed to return; the rest, he left to Jareth.

Counting on this tactic, Jareth had then enlisted the banished Elven citizens as his personal advisors, and used their intelligence to maintain a front against the Elven kingdom. If it weren't for the presence of the other dimensionals in their age group that seemed to gravitate together, the Elven prince and the Goblin King would have come to blows long ago. Arthion wasn't naturally disposed to anger or brutality, but could summon it when needed. He was constantly mystified that the other dimensionals regarded Jareth as some sort of epic hero, snubbing the elder establishment of nearly every realm. "Him and his ridiculous Labyrinth," Arthion sneered – just one more avenue to recruit unwilling subjects.

It was the fairies who had passed along the story of the human girl who had conquered the Goblin King's Labyrinth. They communicated everything as a dramatic tale – valuable intelligence though, if one had the patience to sift through the embellishments. Arthion had heard no more about it for some time, and had even discounted its significance until he'd stumbled upon some of the portals Jareth had used to allow the goblins to travel back and forth to the woman's box-like dwelling.

Arthion's golden brow creased with the memory of discovering how Jareth was taunting and basically torturing the human. She was a beautiful specimen. Not that he would ever consider taking a human mistress or a human life mate (humans were so amusing in the rules and mores they created about the dimensionals); she wasn't of his breed. His children would _not_ be stained by mortal blood. But, he could see that she was authentic, passionate, and generally kind – traits that were rare in humans, and perhaps worth saving. Perhaps as an honored pet…human pets were acceptable, and the arrangement would shield her from Jareth's madness in the interim.

Arthion's full, rose-colored lips drew up into an infectious smile. He would send a gift to the Goblin King….to remind him how mortals could be useful in other kingdoms, and perhaps rescued from the horrors of his twisted realm.

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Jareth sat at the foot of the small bed, reclining against the wall, one knee propped up as an armrest, the other long leg sprawled over the edge of the bed. His fingers drummed incessantly on the small wooden chest beside him as he closed his eyes in irritation and pinched the bridge of his nose. The patron's evening at the museum had not gone according to his plan. He had put so much energy into the evening – changing the ice sculpture into a scene that was sure to rattle her, modifying the upcoming exhibition theme to humiliate her in front of Val and the patrons, causing her to crash headlong into the ice sculpture….it should have worked…she _had_ been weakened, anxious, pliable.

He honestly had thought she would come undone, and not in the pleasant way. Jareth crossed his arms over his chest as he gazed at the sleeping woman, eerie mismatched eyes divulging a range of emotions, thin lips devoid of expression. He'd immediately spelled her into sleep as they disappeared from the museum, unwilling to continue the conversation at that moment, wary of the dimensional who had obviously followed him. When she woke, she would find herself clothed in one of those tasteless "shirts" she wore for sleeping, the raven gown and cape hanging in her armoire. The offending mask had been destroyed. Currently, she was turned on her side, one hand under the pillow, one white, taut leg resting gracefully on top of the blankets.

Jareth tried to _not_ think about the images and sensations that fought to drift into his mind as he gazed at Sarah in her half-undressed state. There were kingdoms filled with incomparable beauties who dreamed of sharing his bed. He did not need her for this. Such an _ungrateful_ child…woman.

She hadn't even been _appreciative_ of the ride he'd summoned for her to take her to the museum, or the elegant dress he'd given her to wear. No, that wasn't true - the dress had been entirely for his benefit, he mused, smirking. He recalled how it had tapered at her waist, how he had placed his hands on her hips to guide her in the dance. He lightly bit the tip of one of his gloves as he relived the moment. Then, when she'd flung the mask at him, _those_ eyes had pierced him across the span of twelve years. He still found himself staring incredulously at the image that he'd recorded. The woman, Sarah, rising from the shards of ice, small charges of electricity visible in her aura, raven dress clinging to her figure, hair falling in untamed waves around her. He shuddered involuntarily.

There was still the opening of the Yule festivities in the Underground. He might have to redouble his efforts. To lose to her again, especially when the Elven prince knew of her initial win, would be…..devastating. He cursed the laws requiring him to honor the bargain. If he'd had his way, he would have simply spelled her to sleep, thrown her over his shoulder, and chained her to a wall in the throne room. No, if he were honest with himself, he'd rather her simply have come to her senses at his first offer, so that she would be safely ensconced in his realm under his control. Then, he could actually focus his attentions elsewhere.

A black gloved hand firmly grasped the ankle that had escaped from under the blankets. "You will be my subject, Sarah," he said in a low, accusatory tone, " **Stop** defying me." He let go of the ankle harshly, causing the bed to shake slightly. He was a _king_ , for god's sake.

Suddenly glancing around him, Jareth realized, with consternation, that he'd been watching her sleep again. He rose immediately, stepping away from the bed as if it would burn him. He quickly turned on his heel and began to fade away, as he tossed a crystal over his shoulder towards the bed…let the goblins wake her.

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The spear met its target with a jarring "thunk," as the field rang with Esu's deep, rumbling laughter. "Your throw, Erlkönig," he challenged. Jareth frowned and waved his spear towards the laughing god. "Continue to use that name, my friend, and you will be searching the realms of the Underground for a very dear part of your godly anatomy." Esu snorted, narrowing his eyes. "You had best enlist the help of your goblin horde and every other kingdom in the Underground to execute that plan," he snarled.

Jareth rolled his eyes and sighed heavily, pulling back his spear hand prepare for the throw, white flowing shirt outlining his lithe muscular frame against the breeze. He sprinted forward a few steps and hurled the javelin at a point in the sky. He didn't even watch to see if the spear had reached his intended destination. He knew it hadn't. He ran the fingers of one gloved hand through his hair, staring down the field at nothing in particular. "I've had a lot on my mind," he confessed glumly.

Esu considered him thoughtfully. He hadn't seen the Goblin King this disturbed in years. "What is it, my friend?" he inquired. Jareth shook his head. "Things have not gone as planned," he murmured to himself. He turned to the dark-skinned god. "One of the dimensionals has been following me to the aboveground," he divulged, a scowl on his face. "I do not know whom or what their intentions are, but the gods help them if I find out." Esu grimaced. "I told you there was a target on your back, Jareth. A shame you did not heed my visions." Jareth rounded on him angrily, "Fine, then tell me who it is!" he retorted.

Esu crossed his arms over his chest, narrowing his eyes at Jareth in disdain. A rustling sound disturbed the high grasses, and both beings jerked around to face the potential danger. A few moments later, one of the castle attendants who was half-dwarf, half-goblin (whom his subjects had promptly labeled "dwoblin"), waddled out of the grass clasping a black velvet box to his chest, huffing and puffing across the field. He managed to bow before Jareth while holding the box aloft, gasping for breath. "Well, well. What have we here?" drawled Jareth silkily, taking the box from the creature's hold.

"A gift, Majesty," rasped the little being. "Just arrived at gates. Messenger said was very 'port…iport..im" "Yes, yes," Jareth replied, dismissing the creature with a wave of his hand. Esu eyed the box suspiciously, raising one eyebrow at Jareth, as if daring him to open it. Jareth's attention was riveted completely on the box. Part of him was excited at the prospect of one of the other kingdoms sending him a gift. Gifts were a weakness of his, the more personal and bizarre, the better. Another part of him championed caution, as it was _unlikely_ any kingdom in the realm would be sending him a gift.

Jareth tentatively unclasped and lifted the dark velvet lid with one gloved finger. He slowly opened the cover, as if expecting a foreign army to spill from its recesses. What he saw caused him to suck in a breath, face contorting with uncontrollable rage. Esu leaned slightly over to view the contents. Resting on a dark velvet pillow was a sparkling platinum circular choker, encrusted with precious gems. A line of chain lead from the circle and was spiraled at its side, glinting in the sun. A single druid stone marked the clasp at the back of the chain. A human servant's chain, for human…. _pets_. Esu drew his brows together in confusion, studying the mask of rage on Jareth's face.

The druid stone was a clear calling card. "Well," Esu's voice boomed, breaking the silence, "At least you know _who_ is coming after you." Jareth did not hear the god. His eyes were both dilated and filled with lightening. If _**anyone**_ _ever_ fit Sarah with a servant's choker, it would be _him_. Jareth released an inhuman roar of rage and flung the box into the sea.


	13. Drinking From Your Cup

**Disclaimer:** I was inspired by self-help recordings to soar above my problems and take control of my desires. Sadly, all of the companies/people who own Labyrinth didn't really care, because they also owned the rights to the self-help recordings. Obviously not making any money; why else would I listen to self-help recordings?

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" _I caught the darkness,_

 _Drinking from your cup._

 _I said is this contagious?_

 _You said just drink it up."  
\- Leonard Cohen, "The Darkness"_

 **A/N:** to the reviewers (raises glass) "Sláinte!" - LovelyAmberLight, kellyn1604, Glades, no1fin514, glitterfangirl, , seapeach

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Sarah glared straight ahead and bit the inside of her bottom lip as she angrily slung open the door to the employee's entrance and stormed out of the museum. She had known things were going to go badly the first day back after the patron's evening. Nothing could change that except for the demented being who had caused all of the mayhem, and of course, he hadn't shown his face since the debacle had occurred. Cheeks pink with embarrassment and anger, she clutched her bag closer to her as she clipped towards the subway station.

Val had been apologetic, yet firm when she had handed down the sentence of one week's mandatory paid leave for Sarah to "decompress." She'd called Sarah into her office, and sat beside her in one of the chairs instead of behind her sharp, modern desk, as if that had made a difference. "It's not the end of the world, sweetie," she had insisted, patting Sarah's leg reassuringly. "I want you to know that I did fight for you. The cabinet was pushing for _ten_ days." Sarah had grimaced in reply. Val acted as if she had taken a bullet for Sarah; of course, that was her way – it allowed her to play both sides and look as if she was the victim of each. "You have to admit, the whole affair was pretty damaging, with the patrons present," she'd maintained in a professional, yet deprecating tone.

Sarah stomped onto the subway, claimed a seat, flipped her hair back, and crossed her legs with a huff. An attractive, dark-haired businessman smiled at her appreciatively, promptly losing the smile and looking away when Sarah scowled back at him darkly.

She had awakened the morning after the patron's evening in her bed, as usual, in her pajamas, the offensive raven's dress hanging in her closet. The last thing she'd remembered from the evening was flinging the mask at Jareth in rage, and seeing him miraculously change to his normal appearance, if it could be considered normal….no one could wear pants that tight….and pull it off. Sarah dug her nails into her hands in frustration at her appreciation of Jareth's…assets. Val hadn't mentioned that part, so she'd assumed that he'd somehow erased that from everyone _else's_ memory. _How convenient._

The truth had revealed itself, such as it was. He'd had no intention of helping her with her anxiety, though she'd suspected as much. Her brow furrowed in indignation. She'd just wanted to believe that she could be free of the debilitating condition. But, _somehow_ , it was improving. She hadn't felt anxious at all after she'd crashed through the ice sculpture…..just blazing, shrieking, unadulterated _fury,_ directed at _one specific_ being. She'd thought she'd actually seen a brief look of surprise on his face, as she'd hurled the mask at him.

Obviously, he had intended for her to have a panic attack, lose the challenge, and be forced to return to the Underground as his subject, which she had _not_ understood in the first place. She mentally smacked herself in the forehead. "The **Goblin King** … you made a deal with the **Goblin King**. You should have known, she silently admonished herself.

Buy _why, why, why_ did her want her back in the Underground? It was obvious by his treatment of her that the king was no longer "in love with the girl." And, the girl wasn't a girl any longer. Had she even been that girl? Maybe she should wish Toby away again. Would that supersede this agreement? She laughed under her breath at the thought. Toby at fourteen was quite a handful….the Goblin King might just meet his match. Though it amused her to think of Toby arguing with Jareth and running rampant through the castle playing football with the goblins, she dismissed the thought, knowing she would never do that to her brother again.

Sarah sighed and tucked a strand of hair behind one ear as she leaned into the slight force of the stopping subway. Gathering herself to exit at the next stop, she wondered what dastardly treat he had in store for her at the Underground event. Belly dancing with goblins as the main event? Serving the guests in the nude with downcast eyes? Going as his date? "Ha," she laughed out loud, rising to grab a pole. She couldn't _wait_ to hear this one. Whatever it was, she would plow through it with a maniacal smile on her face, and fling his loss in _his_ face, much like she had done with the raven mask. She would _not_ go back to the Underground to be his servant.

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On the first day of Sarah's professional exile, she'd cleaned her apartment, a very stress-relieving and cathartic experience. A goblin had tried to run off with her sponges, and she'd popped it soundly with a rag, causing it to run shrieking into the hallway and disappear with a loud crackle. She hadn't seen another one for a few days. The next day, she'd scoured fashion sites for the spring trends, and decided what knock-offs she would look for to replicate the look on a budget. She considered searching for another job, but knew she would have to explain her short stint in the job of Senior Curator.

On the third day, _he_ finally appeared, interrupting her morning coffee. She was sprawled on the couch in a sweater and cargo pants, flipping through movies and pictures on her laptop, hand clutched around the coffee mug, grateful for its warmth. She heard the clipped sound of his boots as he circled the couch to stand in front of her. She didn't even have her makeup on yet, her hair was bunched into a clip, and she didn't care. "I see you let yourself in," she said caustically, not looking up from the laptop, taking a sip of the coffee. "By all means, make yourself at home; there is still coffee in the pot – made from freshly-ground beans, and it doesn't require magic." She heard him chuckle, and added as an afterthought, "Don't have peach though….such a pity."

She continued to focus on the laptop for a few moments more as he just stood there, staring at her. She could _feel_ those eerie eyes. Shivering involuntarily, she took a long, slow sip of her coffee, and languidly looked up at him, knowing who would win the contest of keeping up the awkward silence. He was wearing the brown, high-collared leather jacket he had worn right before he'd summoned the cleaners, strange, sickle-like medallion hanging over the low-cut cream-colored shirt underneath. For some reason, he seemed so much younger to Sarah in this ensemble than he did in the black leather one that went all the way to his neck.

He was looking down through strands of platinum hair, arms crossed, no expression on his face, some thought reflected in his eyes, though she couldn't tell if it was malicious, or just a thought. She tried to affect the semblance of a queen, reclining as she waited for her subject to speak. But that was hopeless. He had more "regal-ness" in one eyelash than she had in her entire body, and he used it effortlessly. Sarah sighed heavily, placing her cup on a coaster, pushing her laptop aside and standing so she wouldn't have to look _**so**_ far up at him. She mused that it was difficult to feel tall or sophisticated in fuzzy socks. He tilted his head slightly and continued to stare at her. "What is wrong with him?" she thought. "He's acting even stranger than usual."

"So, Jar..," she began, as his eyes narrowed. " _ **Goblin King**_ , to what do I owe this…," she waved her hand towards him, indicating his presence, refusing to finish the sentence with the word "pleasure." He smirked with one side of his mouth and took a step closer to her, still looking straight down into her eyes. Sarah resisted the overwhelming urge to retreat and reclaim her personal space, knowing that was probably his goal. "Did you come to gloat, or just stare?" she asked purposefully, glancing down at his leather-clad arms briefly. Why was it so difficult to look into his eyes?

The mirth shone in his eyes as he released a deep, infectious laugh. "Sarah, Sarah, Sarah," he chided her, uncrossing his arms and reaching around her head to release her hair from its clip. Panic _almost_ set in as she felt the brush of his hair against her cheek. It nudged at her thoughts like a habit or memory. What was it with her hair clips anyway? Maybe she should buy him some. He threw the clip on the couch and placed his hands on his hips as he began to stroll leisurely around her pitiful living room/office/kitchen. "I thought it only _fair_ , Sarah, that I informed you of the _expectations_ for the Underground Yule festival," he drawled, as he fingered a picture of her and Toby in the throes of laughter, draped over each other, silly string hanging from every inch of them. "Strapping lad, isn't he?" Jareth asked absently.

Sarah racked her brain for questions, or anything to talk about to distract him from the picture. "Yule," she stated, "So, this is an Underground _Christmas Party?"_ Thoughts of red and green party hats and conga lines ignited memories of every awful Christmas party she'd ever been to. She was sure his…kind approached the season differently. She _really_ needed to learn something about fay. He shot her a look of disdain as he released the picture. "It is the festival that begins the season of Yule," he sneered, "though I should have expected your ignorance."

It was Sarah's turn to cross her arms and narrow her eyes. "Jare...," she sighed in exasperation… "Your _**majesty**_ ," she corrected herself, unwilling to deal with the tantrum or intimidation that might erupt otherwise, "You've already nearly cost me my job, caused me to alienate my only real friend at work, and completely mortified me in front of people I admire and respect. Is it really necessary to insult me in my home?" she asked incredulously. The smirk left his face, and he was in front of her in less than a second, staring directly into her eyes again, icy blue eye somewhat dilating to reflect its twin. "Do..you..forfeit?" he clipped out each syllable. He was so close that his scent of spices and earthiness invaded her senses. Damn, if they could bottle _that._ "Focus Sarah," she reminded herself firmly.

"You know that I won't," she said quietly, still unnerved at his closeness. He grinned again, the mirth evident on his face. He rose slowly, leisurely strolled to the club chair, and draped himself over the seat. "Then let us discuss what will be _required_ of you at the festival," he drawled, tenting his hands, one fay-marked eyebrow raised in amusement. What she wanted to say was, "Get off my favorite chair, you childish, infuriating _bastard!"_ What she actually said was, "Fine. What do I have to do?" She grabbed her coffee mug and headed to refresh her cup, determined not to be a "captive," attentive audience.

Jareth's smirk left his face as she turned towards the kitchen. It was obvious she was being oppositional, as usual. He transported himself to lean against the counter beside her, and she gasped, sloshing a few drops of coffee over the edge of her cup. He grinned. "The occasion is the beginning of Yule. A representative from every realm will be there. What you call…elves," he gestured distastefully, "sprites, vampires, fay, gods, goddesses – all those you humans have given names to due to your ignorance." Sarah sighed heavily – again, with her _ignorance_. At least today's craziness had a theme. "The event lasts for….thirteen hours," he grinned. Sarah rolled her eyes as she opened the sugar. He gently took the sugar from her. "Allow me," he offered regally. He took the sugar and sprinkled a few grains into the steaming mug. Sarah wrinkled her brow and moved to take back the sugar canister to add more. Jareth held it out of reach. "Just taste it, Sarah," he implored. "Trust me….for once."

She rubbed her palms into her eyes with frustration, hoping he would be gone when she opened her eyes…he wasn't. "Fine," she spat out, grabbing the cup. She held it to her mouth with both hands and sipped. "Oh. My. God," she thought, not daring to let the words escape from her lips. It was so rich, creamy, just the right amount of sweet….how dare he taint her sacred coffee ritual and make it better. Sarah sat the mug on the counter. "It's…ok," she stated, knowing he would probably see the lie in her eyes.

He smirked, grabbing the mug and taking a sip for himself. "Divine," he stated, and began drinking the remainder of the coffee. Sarah's brain stuttered for a moment, realizing he had just turned her insult back on her, and intended on drinking the whole cup. "Ok, …your _**Majesty**_. What exactly do I have to do for this Yule festival?" He paused for a moment, leather collar framing his pensive face, and slowly finished the last few sips of her coffee. He set the mug on the counter. "Typically, humans are only allowed at these events as servants or pets." Sarah's eye twitched. "I knew it," she ground through her teeth, "You want me to be a servant." Some unintelligible expression flashed across Jareth's face. "There is another choice," he said matter-of-factly. Sarah noticed that he did not deny her accusation.

"And?" she questioned when he didn't respond. Jareth flicked his wrist in a circle, producing a perfect, sparkling crystal. "I think a visual would be much more effective than my description," he remarked, pulling her hand up with his empty hand and placing the crystal in it. She held the crystal up to her face and tilted her head slightly. Images began to come into focus in the swirling depths. Dancers, appearing to be human, writhing, whirling, and executing impossible feats of gymnastics on a stage. They were beautiful, alluring…she stared at them mesmerized, observing one lithe, light-skinned dancer somersault over the others and land in a dramatic pose on the stage. Then she realized that the dancers were….barely clothed.

She glanced back up at Jareth incredulously and leaned against the counter. "Ok, Goblin King. One, I can't dance like that. Two, I won't dance nude." Jareth genuinely laughed, "Sarah, you _**are**_ a prude. Look closely. Not one of them is completely nude." Sarah gazed into the crystal again, and noted that they were not _completely_ nude, though it was as close to nude as they could be….and not be considered nude. The women's outfits reminded her of Princess Leia, just waiting for Jabba to yank her chain. " _ **Really**_?" she thought to herself. So, be a slave, a pet, or a dancer. Not really any choice at all.

Jareth grasped the counter top in anticipation. He'd known what she would choose and why she would choose it. He tried to look unaffected as Sarah gazed at the dancers in wonder. It would be….enough to see her in the dancer's uniform, leading the dance, for his pleasure and the pleasure of his guests. It would be enough, he had already decided. Things were getting too complicated with Arthion's involvement. Jareth would not see her as Arthion's…"pet." Self-important, assuming Elves. He would as soon see her dead before he would allow that self-righteous idiot to collar her. He should probably end this game soon in any case, before he allowed things to get out of hand.

"We find ourselves again at a crossroads, Sarah," he stated, placing his hand under hers to spin the crystal. "What is your decision?" he demanded, eyes punctuating his demand. Sarah glanced back up at him, as if waking from a dream, eyes wide and green, cheeks flushed, hair still mussed from where he'd removed the clip. Jareth stealthily took in her appearance, which he found somewhat charming in spite of himself and breathed in her scent. "I…," she began, "I…will not be a slave…or a pet." Jareth grinned. "Excellent choice," he commended, raising himself from leaning on the countertop.

Sarah shook her head, attempting to dispel the effects of the dream crystal. "I…I don't know how to dance like _that_ ," she stated quietly. "Oh Sarah," he chuckled, "that is why I am going to leave this little _present_ with you." He brought his hand under hers again and turned the crystal. "If you turn it.. _this way_..and look into it, watching each dance, your body will know the steps," he said reassuringly. Sarah sighed resignedly, knowing she could only go forward at this point…or lose everything. "What about the less-than-a-yard of material that is the costume?" she asked, not really wanting to know. "It's on your bed, my dear," he purred, pushing himself off the counter and sauntering towards the window.

"Wait!" Sarah cried, carefully depositing the dream crystal on a kitchen towel. She turned to face him with determination and purpose. "Will you _please_ tell me one thing, Your Highness?" she asked, her eyes bare and imploring, hands nervously pulling her hair back away from her face. Jareth considered her in her makeup-less state, _though still beautiful_ , hair in disarray, _though charming_ , and fuzzy beige socks. Nothing could have seemed more innocuous or unassuming. "What do you want to know, Sarah?" he drawled.

She hesitated, not knowing his current mental state, or what effect her question might have on him. "I think…from what you said at the Winter Masquerade..I think I know _what_ you want from me – to be one of your subjects." She paused, gauging his reaction. His face was completely expressionless, eyes boring into hers. " _ **Why**_?" she forced herself to ask, one hand clenching the countertop as if it held her to the earth. Her subconscious registered a thousand emotions flitting over Jareth's face before he settled on a cold mask of indifference. He took three long strides towards her, and placed his hands on the counter on either side of her, effectively caging her in. Sarah shrank back. The look on his face was unreadable, his eyes darting from one of her eyes to the other, pinning her with his gaze.

It seemed to Sarah as if they stayed in that position for minutes, Jareth, staring accusingly into her eyes, pinning her to the counter, she, shrinking back, surprised by his reaction. Then finally, one gloved hand reached up to grasp her chin, and held it tighter, and tighter, until she winced. Jareth's head fell forward, almost onto her shoulder, where she could not see his face. She was acutely aware of the closeness of his body, the light feeling of his hair brushing against her cheek, his hand in a vice-grip on her chin. And then he was just…gone.


	14. Sins You Never Had the Courage to Commit

**Disclaimer:** Guess what?! I own a tax return of $48.52. Guess I can buy the rights now!

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"You will always be fond of me. I represent to you all the sins you never had the courage to commit." _  
\- Oscar Wilde, "The Picture of Dorian Gray"_

 **A/N:** Gotta give props to the reviewers because they are why I do this. Thank you to all who reviewed! You make it or break it! LovelyAmberLight (thx for the ideas), Stormbutterfly (love your J/S story BTW), KestrelMoonfayre, tooralooryeaye, Kellyn1604 (now when have you ever known Jareth to just _answer_ a question?), , no1fin514 (I tried to get paid time off for bad behavior, but it didn't seem to work. My sister, an Accountant, says it happens. What a mystery…)

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"Sweetie, this is Val," the voice intoned. "I was just calling to check in and make sure you're ok." Sarah shook her head and rolled her eyes at the voicemail message. Did Val _really_ think she would be completely crushed by the fallout from the patron's evening? "Actually," she mused, "I normally would have been." Val's simpering voice caught her attention again as she realized that Val was asking her to go to a small party the following evening. Sarah laughed sardonically to herself, as she already had an engagement….Underground. She wasn't sure which event she would rather _not_ attend the most.

Sarah had spent the remainder of the day after Jareth had disappeared replaying their most recent interaction over in her mind, trying to dissect any meaning from his strange behavior, as if that were possible. It was disconcerting to have someone stare at you for that long without saying anything, especially when that someone wasn't human. And the way he'd backed her against the counter and grabbed her chin. She could only imagine that was anger? She reached up and touched her chin where he'd held it so firmly, opening and closing her jaw to stretch the muscles. She could still feel where his gloved fingers nearly embedded into her flesh. What else could it have been but anger?

Something had changed in their interactions. As an adult, she thought better of provoking him when she didn't have to. Sarah almost treated him in a similar manner as she had Toby when he was young, except Toby did not have the obvious magic, was physically a child, and could not dangle her friends and loved ones over the Bog of Eternal Stench. There was a line…. She mused that in all of the interactions she'd had with Jareth, he'd exhausted her with his ability to switch temperaments in an instant. One minute, he was serious and dark, eerie eyes staring down at her mercilessly. The next minute, he was mischievous and….well, _stimulating_ if she were honest, leaving the electric trace of his glove's touch down the side of her cheek. And she never knew when she happened to cross that line, but assumed she had when she'd found herself held against the wall by her neck….which was fucking _assault._

She had also spent quite a few minutes staring in dismay at the costume on her bed. It was unbelievably...ridiculous, in that might as well have been a 2-part handkerchief with a small mask as an accessory. The thing looked like shiny, copper metal, though it was pliable when touched. The top part…she _guessed_ it was the top, consisted of copper straps that would barley cover the wearer's….private areas that were linked at the back with delicate bronze chains. The bottom part looked as if it was fashioned similarly to a bikini bottom, though it gleamed as if it were armor. A long golden sash of almost unworldly, silky material hung from the front. Sarah laughed out loud as she inspected the costume. "Too late to stop eating," she thought, wondering just _how_ the thing was supposed to stay on while she was performing the twisting, twirling moves she had seen in the dream crystal.

She could still refuse to go….and probably be immediately whisked to the Goblin Kingdom to become some kind of goblin zookeeper or….worse; she was sure there were more demeaning jobs in his kingdom, and she was doubly sure he wouldn't hesitate to try to make her perform them. _Her_ dream crystal was also still rotating on the small table stand near the door, in the same place it had been since the morning after they discussed the new, _improved_ deal. "Nothing ventured…," she thought, flinging the costume onto a chair. Maybe, she could…. _improve_ the costume? She would still be wearing it, after all. The expectations were that she was to attend as an invited human guest. Nothing was said about wearing additional items with the costume. Sarah smirked at her epiphany and caught her gaze in the mirror. "Welcome back," she said, eyes gleaming, realizing she was about to use the goblin king's own tactics against him.

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A knock at the door broke her reverie, and Sarah hid the offending costume under her only pillow, because it was _that_ small…. As she approached the door, she realized, somewhat triumphantly, that she hadn't even jumped at the knock. She heard a familiar, muffled voice singing off-key through the door. "Sa-rah…Saaa-rah….storms are brewin' in your eyes.." Sarah could not suppress a grin as she began fiddling with the locks even before she saw David's large, round blue eye staring into the peephole. She opened the door to reveal her neighbor-friend, holding two bottles of wine. Sarah attempted to force her expression into seriousness. "You know, sir," she threatened, "there are severe financial and social penalties for singing in this hallway….especially _that_ old song."

David gave her a goofy grin and the obligatory cheek kiss as he stepped inside the apartment. "Oh sweetheart!" I heard about the temporary forced retirement….and I'm here to make you forget it!" he announced, holding up a bottle of wine in each hand and moving towards the bar counter. Sarah climbed up on a bar stool as he began gathering the glasses and the corkscrew. "Oh that," moaned Sarah. "I seem to have a talent for sensationalism lately."

She was always glad to see her quirky friend. David was somewhat older than she was, thirty-eight to be exact, yet he always seemed to have a fresh, positive perspective on life's little foibles. He had made sure she was ok when she had the…breakdown after the patron's evening, and he'd been there through new apartment woes and inconsiderate-bastard boyfriends.

David laughed heartily, giving her a playful wink. "That's the spirit. Don't let this have power over you," he said encouragingly. Sarah blinked involuntarily at his choice of words. "Think of it as a vacation." Sarah mused that he was right, "though I would hardly schedule visiting the Underground under these circumstances as part of my itinerary," she mused. He expertly poured the wine, the only person she knew besides professional sommeliers who could do so, and leaned against her counter – the same counter that the King of the Goblins had leaned on that very morning. She wished she could tell him about Jareth.

He swirled his wine and inhaled the aroma. "Such a wine diva," Sara laughed to herself, taking a sip. "Sarah, I've been meaning to tell you," he began. "I noticed that you are looking so much more confident in the last few days. Why, I nearly bowed down to you the other day and waited for the royal sign to rise when I saw you on your way to work." Sarah laughed delicately into her wine glass. She had to admit a sense of satisfaction at his comment. She _had_ been feeling more confident lately – alive, for that matter. She wasn't even afraid of the goblins anymore. She'd actually been chasing them down and exacting punishment or retrieving her belongings if she could catch them before they disappeared. "Sweetheart, you just _keep_ on doing whatever you're doing… and _damn_ everyone else," he pronounced emphatically, raising his glass to her. She reciprocated the gesture, and they both grinned like conspiratorial idiots. They spent the next hour consuming plentiful amounts of wine and engaging in pleasant conversation. Sara was glad for the ego boost. David silently noted that it was the first time he'd actually seen a smile reflected in her eyes since he'd first met her. "Thank goodness," he mused silently. Brooding, negative friends just wouldn't do.

After David left, she changed into billowy lounge pants and collapsed on the couch in a pleasant wine haze. Out of sheer curiosity, she suddenly decided to try on the costume. At least then, she would have some idea of how she might be able to add to the coverage. She mused how one could rationalize pretty much anything after consuming nearly a bottle of wine, and admitted to herself that the costume was beautiful.

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The young dimensionals had gathered in a night garden on the perimeter of the Goblin Castle, exotic white flowers glowing in the twilight, unusual fountains gurgling along the paths, giant topiaries towering over the garden. Jareth assumed they always gathered here due to the fact that he was the only one of them with a realm of his own. Arthion hadn't shown his self-righteous Elven face. "At least the idiot knows better," growled Jareth mentally, flinging a disc into the pile with an arrogant grin. "My… _friends_ ," he stated with finality, motioning for a goblin to take possession of the items that had been put up for bet. "I believe it is my hand. It has been a definite pleasure," he said silkily, nodding to the players from narrowed eyes as he rose and turned from the game. Jareth was filled with energy from the win, muscles nearly twitching to do something physical to exorcise his excitement and natural adrenalin, though he knew he should school his countenance for the dimensionals….they would eventually use any type of knowledge against him; it was their way – except for Esu, and he didn't fully trust him…. and perhaps some of the females. He smirked. As if on cue, one of the minor princesses, a daughter of Demeter, threw herself against Jareth's chest. "My mother says all you need is a strong goddess to support you and you will be the most powerful ruler in the Underground," she slurred, clearly over her limit of Underground wine. Jareth patiently removed each hand from his chest and lightly kissed them. "Then your mother sorely underestimates my abilities and grandiosely overestimates yours," he purred soothingly, knowing she wouldn't catch the insult. The dark-haired princess giggled and darted off to join the others. Jareth's black leather boots clipped languidly along the stones as he forced himself to appear disinterested. He had attired himself in all black just in case that Elven fool decided to make an appearance. He was making his way to the Labyrinth. He needed to be alone with his thoughts and burn off some of the energy away from the watchful eyes of the dimensionals.

Jareth effortlessly leapt on top of a wall of the Labyrinth, advancing into the maze with ever-increasing drive as he moved farther away from the gathering. His mismatched eyes stared ahead of him intensely as he became lost in his thoughts, walking down and over walls, heedless of where he was going. Sarah was no longer afraid. So much work, so many human years, _though only a few Underground years_ , put into the effort to punish her. Jareth's thin lips twisted into a scowl as he increased his pace, unlodging tufts of plants and rocks from the walls as he continued. "It wouldn't be the first time I had to repair the damn thing because of _her_ ," he huffed to himself.

Finally, he found himself in the middle of a garden in the Labyrinth, where none of the dimensionals, or the goblins for that matter, would be able to disturb him. A simple circular fountain with a female fae figure adorned the middle of the garden. A stream of enchanted, calming water flowed from her eyes, and the sound was soothing beyond comprehension. Jareth felt the urgency of the adrenalin slipping away as he sprawled on the concrete at the fountains edge, leaning against one of the small obelisks placed at four points around the fountain. He leaned his head against the obelisk and closed his eyes, unruly, feathery hair shifting in the comforting breeze around him. _Why_ was he so obsessed with this mortal…woman? It was madness. Everything he'd attempted with Sarah within the confines of his dimensional capabilities had been turned on its head. At every turn, even when she seemed at her weakest, she _defied_ him. He propped one knee up on the fountain's border and crossed his arms, eyes still closed.

 _Sarah….Sarah, Sarah, Sarah…_ he unleashed a frustrated, predatory howl that would hopefully be attributed to the wolves on the borders of the Goblin Kingdom. What _had_ he offered her all of those years ago? He maintained it was citizenship, under which she would be protected, and be a faithful and productive servant….but, part of him poked a sword in his abdomen and insisted that he was wrong. The natural fae in him surreptitiously gutted the part of him holding the sword, defending his rightful born respect and place in the dimensions. Jareth opened his mismatched eyes and summoned a crystal to check on his hapless soon-to-be-subject.

He stared mesmerized at the spectacle in the crystal. This was even better than he'd hoped. She wore the ancient ceremonial dress, and she danced for _him_ and him alone; there was no other audience whose eyes could claim the vision.

Almost without thought her long slender arms curved into an arc towards the ceiling. Slender, ivory legs bent outward gracefully at the knees, as she lowered her torso toward the floor. The lights in her apartment dimmed as the fairies attached themselves to her ankles, her knees, her wrists, to outline her body for the dance of the winter sun. Dropping soundlessly to her knees, she bent backwards elegantly, arms dropping back to barely touch the floor. Somewhere in the back of her mind, Sarah was awe-struck. She'd never would have had the muscle control and grace to perform the moves without the dream crystal. Internally, she laughed with genuine delight – the dance would not allow her to laugh aloud. She was content to twirl, sway, and arch her back impossibly with the dance….well, she _was_ drunk. Sarah lost herself in the cadence and movement of the dance, limbs at one with the haunted, rhythmic beat, eyes rolling back into her head in acquiescence, allowing the dance to overtake her.


	15. Stealing Time

**Disclaimer:** (speaks for itself)

"Though nothing, will keep us together

We could steal time, just for one day

We can be heroes, forever and ever

What do you say?" _  
\- David Bowie, "Heroes"_

 **A/N:** It's all coming to the surface.

Props and appreciation to the reviewers: , LovelyAmberLight, kellyn1604, and a special thanks to tooralooryeaye for getting me out of the "funk" Hope you enjoy!

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"Wake-y, wake-y," called a gravelly voice through the haze of sleep. Sarah groaned, throwing one arm over her face as she felt something poking at her side. Peering through half-open eyes, she saw a greenish-brown, round, lumpy head with bright yellow eyes staring at her. She blinked the head into focus, realizing what it was that had interrupted her blissful slumber, something she did not get enough of lately. Sarah rubbed her eyes, and slowly hoisted herself up onto her elbows, hoping the creature would be gone. It wasn't. It tilted its head and continued to stare at her in a way that reminded her of its unpredictable king. She blew her hair out of her face and regarded the little miscreation. "Can you make coffee?" she asked wearily, still irritated at having her sleep interrupted. The goblin tilted its head again and blinked at her. "Never mind," she groaned as she stretched, musing that it would probably taste like bog anyway.

"King come soon," the thing muttered, eyeing her warily. "So…'soon' means what? An hour? Tonight?" she asked groggily. The goblin turned suddenly, snatched a scarf off a nearby chair, and charged out of the room, cackling triumphantly. _Just another day in paradise._ Sarah threw her legs over the side of the bed, pushed herself up, and rested her elbows on her knees, head in her hands. Her head was throbbing. "Great job, Sarah," she thought out loud, "don't even know how to avoid a hangover at your age." She also noted that her muscles were sore, probably from practicing the dances in the crystal. How in hell was she going to perform her end of the bargain if she was already this sore? _Life is not supposed to be like this. I'm supposed to be well-adjusted, stashing bank in my 401k, having children…maybe._ "Meds, go-juice, shower," she instructed her body, hoisting herself from the bed and pulling on her robe.

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Arthion stood regally on a stone balcony of the Elven castle, surveying and communicating silently with the land. The castle's main halls and rooms sat atop the peak of a small mountain, with various sections strategically placed at intervals all the way to the bottom. He currently occupied a small section of the castle that was closest to the forest, and the fairies. Feet apart, hands splayed on the balustrade regally, green/gold eyes staring unblinking into the depths of the forest, he flashed visions into the fairies' consciousness. The visions mainly consisted of a dark-haired human woman's face and form, from his memory of the aboveground event at which she'd appeared to momentarily overcome the Goblin King's attempts to torture her. The fairies knew Jareth very well; he only needed communicate the king's image once for them to know what he asking for – surveillance, information.

The more he had thought about the confrontation he'd seen between Jareth and the woman, the more determined he'd become to rescue her from the Goblin King's attentions. After all, there were guidelines surrounding interactions with humans. If Jareth did not wish to comply, perhaps he should become part of the dark kingdom instead, which is where Arthion believed that the Goblin King belonged. He only needed to build a case; he would begin with the woman.

The Elven Prince turned from the balcony and strode into his rooms to prepare himself for the Yule festival. He pulled on soft, light-green leather gloves with a single druid stone attached to the back of each hand. He fastened the gold-encrusted stone at the neck of his doublet and observed his form in a mirror as dark green streaks mingled with the gold ones in his platinum hair. A golden vine-patterned circlet appeared around his temples, signifying his rank. Seemingly satisfied with his appearance, his last act was to conceal the jewel-encrusted collar within the folds of his silken doublet….just in case. Perhaps this was the beginning of the long fall for the Goblin King. Arthion's full, pink lips curled into a satisfied smile as his eyes sparkled with anticipation.

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Jareth leaned against a large, red, earthen pillar, with one foot propped behind him, arms crossed, staring intently into the silvery jungle outside of the palace. The grunts behind him increased steadily in volume until the sickening sound of a body being slammed against the earthen floor signaled the end of the match. He languidly pushed himself off the pillar and turned on his heel to face the victor. His usual effortlessly cool demeanor was somewhat disheveled; his light-colored shirt hung open revealing a slight sheen on his skin. He had long since taken off his gloves, and feathery strands of hair seemed intent on wafting into his field of vision. Esu's realm was hot. He normally used magic to maintain his appearance, but the Yule festival was tonight, and he was not willing to risk any significant reserve magic. Esu's dark form was leaning over the male body on the floor, securing one of its legs in an impossible hold.

"Well done," Jareth drawled, grinning at the god. He tilted his head slightly and regarded the body. "What do you do with them?" he asked quizzically, nodding at the body. Esu sat back on his haunches, dark muscles rippling up his arms as he untangled himself from his opponent. His deep, infectious laugh rang through the hall. "My friend, that is the beauty of it," he quipped. Esu stood, suddenly clothed in a long billowing robe, looking none the worse for wear after the wrestling match. "His family thinks him dead, killed by marauding rebels from a neighboring village. I will raise him, give him a gift, and send him on his way back to his family." He crossed his arms and flashed Jareth a confident grin, "and suddenly, I am a _gracious_ god."

Jareth chuckled at the remark. He and Esu had remarkably similar philosophies. Subjects should be grateful…..there was always the bog, after all. _"Had I wanted you dead, Sarah…"_ the words he'd spoken at the patron's evening suddenly echoed in his head. He shook his head slightly to dispel the memory of that conversation. Esu joined Jareth under the overhang, the woven golden thatch that covered the roof rustling slightly in an evening breeze….for which Jareth was thankful. Esu picked up the conversation they'd begun before the wrestling match. "So, Jareth, you need a favor."

Jareth sighed, "What I need is a strategic diversion," he maintained, bowing to Esu, "from an accomplished….expert," he added silkily, challenging Esu through narrowed eyes. Jareth raised himself with a grand flourish, then went back to leaning against the pillar, allowing the compliment and challenge to bait Esu's interest. Esu's booming laughed echoed once more throughout the veranda and into the jungle. "Well-spoken, Goblin King," he replied. "Would this have anything to do with the _gift_ you received from the Elven Prince?"

Jareth's eye twitched almost imperceptibly at the mention of the human collar. He did _not_ want to reveal the truth to _anyone_. Knowledge was most certainly power in the Underground. Unfortunately, it looked as if Arthion had forced his hand to some extent. He would have to divulge some things to Esu, or call off the deal with Sarah and admit defeat ( _never!_ ), or risk the possibility that Arthion would have her claimed and collared as an Elven pet by the end of the evening. Jareth shook his head slightly as he thought about how every plan he'd ever made that involved Sarah Williams had inevitably become significantly more complex and difficult than it should have been….it never failed.

It couldn't be helped, although…it wasn't necessary to reveal _everything._ Jareth drew himself up to his full height and smirked at Esu deviously, revealing the white tips of his sharp canine teeth. "My friend," he drawled, "let me tell you about my latest game."

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A few hours and a wardrobe change later, Jareth stood in front of Sarah's couch, hands on his hips, staring down his nose at her sleeping form, sprawled across the couch in her bathrobe. _What was it with this woman and sleep?_ He had still held out a small sliver of hope that he could frighten her out of this, that she would refuse to go. Initially, he had very much wanted to see her crushed before him, especially in the Underground, before his peers and subjects, on her knees, writhing in a panic attack, in pain…..as he had been. But now the stakes were different.

It wasn't just a matter of him losing, but to whom he may lose….and _what_ he may lose. Jareth inhaled slowly and closed his eyes, allowing the "connections" of everything that had to go right bond together and settle into place in his mind. He would need every bit of reserve magic to keep Arthion from claiming Sarah, to help Esu maintain the charade, to force himself to engage in the festivities and appear unaffected while the intrigue played out in the background. The last thing he needed now was a diplomatic incident, or the gods forbid, a war.

He stared at Sarah's sleeping form for a moment, mismatched eyes betraying no expression. As usual, one leg was splayed out from her body, half off the couch. He traced a line from her mid-thigh to her ankle with one gray leather-covered finger, then gently placed the ankle back on the couch. "No time," he said to himself. He shook her gently, thinking it would be better to have her compliance with all of the complications that awaited them. Even if it meant, she _won_ her dreams. _But that will be the_ _ **last**_ _alternative._ "Sarah," he commanded firmly, "get up." Sarah flinched and opened her eyes suddenly, startled by the interruption.

She looked around suddenly, seeing Jareth, and fell back against the couch. "Sorry, I fell asleep," she mumbled, stifling a yawn. Jareth flicked his wrist and a large cup of coffee appeared on the table. "That's what you need, yes?" he inquired, crossing his arms and peering at her down his aquiline nose. Sarah's eyes lit up and she grasped the mug with both hands. "Yes, thank God!" she cried. Jareth snickered. "You're welcome," he replied smugly, smirking down at her. He sprawled on the club chair, fighting his impatience to get to the festival and have the whole thing over with. As she gulped her coffee, he closed his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose and running his fingers up towards his temple.

Sarah nearly inhaled the coffee, which was amazing, and observed the supernatural being lounging in her club chair. He looked as if he were about to have a migraine, which seemed strange to her, given that _she_ was the one who had to dance in front of a bunch of strangers with a small kitchen towel and two potholders for coverage. Ok, so the costume was beautiful…it was still…. _tiny_. She observed the Goblin King as she felt her brain crawling out of its mental fog. His entire ensemble brought one word to mind… _ice_. The surcoat that hung open and ended at this calves appeared to be made of a diaphanous material that resembled ice, slightly blue, white, and transparent in color. A startlingly white silk shirt hung open halfway down his chest, revealing his nearly translucent, glowing skin. His breeches appeared to be a silvery metal, though they stretched with his form….tightly, as usual. Both boots and gloves were soft, gray leather with what appeared to be diamonds studding the seams.

Sarah realized she was staring intensely, as he removed his gloved fingers from his temple and opened his eyes. She ran her fingers through her hair, still clutching the coffee with one hand. "Jareth, I'm sorry – I'm a little hung over," she admitted sheepishly, attempting to maintain some sort of self-respect and composure. He glared at her, hearing his familiar name, but there was no time for corrections. He flicked his wrist and suddenly the coffee was in his hands. "Go…get…dressed," he hissed, taking a long, slow sip.

Sarah's brow furrowed at the "command." She took a long, slow, deep breath, and let it out just as deliberately, not about to trip over herself to obey his majesty, but not wanting to piss him off enough to sabotage her. She stood gingerly, showing no signs of urgency, as she made her way to her bedroom. Jareth, the Goblin King, propped his heels on Sarah Williams' coffee table, sunk back in her club chair, and breathed deeply over the coffee mug. If the last few minutes were any indication, it was going to be a long night….


	16. One Day as a Lion

**Disclaimer:** Hmmm… "ownership" is a multi-faceted, complex idea…. Profit; however, is not. My only profit is the abject happiness I get from seeing a review, a favorite, or a follow.

" _Better one day as a lion than one hundred days as a sheep."_

 _-British saying_

 **A/N:** Writer nervously approaches tablet and taps "publish" button, averts eyes, and backs away quietly, hoping to avoid attention. Geeeez, I did not intend for it to be this long until the next chapter. To anyone who was reading, you have my sincerest apologies (a virtual bottle of Lafite Rothschild, and a completely life-like DB AI robot – pre-teeth change ) Thx to my beta tooralooryeaye – this should save you from the Sarah/Sara, fae/fay/fey conundrum, as well as from awkward usage conventions from living in way too many places growing up.

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After stretching her aching biceps and calf muscles, Sarah contorted herself into the costume for the Yule festival, and stood staring at herself in the mirror. She frowned slightly as she saw the trepidation reflected in her eyes. She wasn't worried about how she _looked_ , though no self-respecting woman who did not work at the Moulin Rouge should be caught dead in something so - _nearly non-existent_. She knew Jareth was waiting. She was sure he expected her to forfeit. She ran her fingers lightly under her eyes, which were somewhat puffy from the sleep and the hangover.

The costume was still gorgeous, and even more gorgeous _on_ her. The rich, copper-colored straps of the top piece contrasted beautifully with her pale skin and dark hair; the petite, delicate chains hanging across the back creating a faint musical jingling when she moved – she was an art exhibit. Sarah smiled slightly at that thought. _An art exhibit for some wacked out Victoria's Secret medieval lingerie party._ If Val could see this…. She had added one piece – a flesh-colored upper bodice under the costume that would cover any unfortunate wardrobe malfunctions. It was almost imperceptible, but made her feel as if she had an extra layer of coverage. What could he say about it anyway? She hadn't _fundamentally_ changed the costume. Sarah reached for a tube of lip gloss and began to dot her lips, catching the reflection of worry in her eyes again. _Why_ was she anxious? She could perform the dances, she didn't know any of the people… _beings_ who would be there except Jareth, and she'd been doing so _well_ controlling the anxiety.

Her brain offered up an image that was possibly the answer to her question – the Goblin King's eyes. His expression had been distant, the focus of his eyes suggesting that his thoughts were somewhere else entirely. _Jareth_ was anxious… She'd almost missed it in her state of grogginess. He hadn't even wasted energy on his customary ritual innuendos and threats. And if Jareth was worried….

Sarah scowled as she rubbed her lips together to distribute the gloss. Why should she be concerned at all about _his_ anxieties? He'd given her more than her share over the past _twelve years_. And _now…s_ he glanced down at her fair, slim legs, partially concealed by copper-colored silk …now, she stood barefoot, partially-clad in a kinky other-world costume, trying desperately to salvage any sliver of her dreams or self-respect she had left. She flung the lip gloss back into the makeup box, still scowling as she turned to the door. _So glad this is fucking over with tonight…one way or the other._ If she did have to go back to the Underground with him as his _subject_ , it certainly wasn't going to be a party for _**either**_ of them.

Sarah held herself regally as she walked back into the main room of the apartment. Jareth was giving instructions to a goblin, and waved the creature off as she entered the room. The misshapen thing disappeared into the ether with a sharp crack. Sarah shook her head – she would never get used to that sound. She was about to make a snarky comment about the costume, not realizing he'd already seen her practicing in the crystal, but the look in his eyes held her back.

His eyes reflected an emotion she had only seen once before in the very same eyes as she danced with him in the ballroom. If she was forced to put a name to it, she might call it adoration….but that couldn't be, because she was no longer _that_ girl…if she had ever even been that girl. And, no one who adored someone else and knew they had anxieties would hold them captive on the fortieth floor of a building, forced to look at the view until they _passed out_. She opted for the snarky comment.

"Here I am, in all my sex slave glory!" she quipped, holding her hands out in a "ta-da" pose. Jareth's thoughts and eyes were nowhere else but in that moment, as his gaze traveled languidly from her feet up the rest of her body. She'd seen similar expressions in the eyes of the museum patrons who obviously had a fascination with a particular piece, and vividly remembered one man who paced around the same sculpture for nearly three hours, observing it from every possible angle.

As his eyes made his way up to her face, he smirked and rested his chin on his palm. "We could certainly arrange for such attire….if you _wish,_ " he drawled. "Although, I'm afraid you might find the coverage… _lacking._ " Sarah shook her head incredulously. It seemed as if he could take _any_ comment and boomerang it back at her.

She nearly jumped as she felt him suddenly appear beside her. He stared down at her neck area, brows furrowed. She looked up at him questioningly as he ran his finger along the top of the cream-colored bodice just under her neck. " What - is - _this_?" he demanded, pulling the top of the bodice slightly between his fingers. Sarah internally smiled in triumph – she'd hoped he would notice. "It's a bodice that many performers wear under their costumes," she said matter-of-factly, somewhat unnerved by his touch.

Jareth's eyes narrowed and gleamed like those of a raptor as he gazed down on her. In truth, he was looking for a way out. Over the past week, he'd been forced to confront certain _possible_ truths he was not inclined to face. One of those _possible_ truths was that although he wanted to punish Sarah for rejecting his offer twelve years ago, he did not want to see her in a human collar, under another dimensional's control. He also _could not_ forfeit. Such weakness before humans was unheard of; he would most likely lose his kingdom. He had pushed the limits of what was allowed in terrorizing her up to this point; he had played his hand, it seemed, too early in the game.

But this unattractive "bodice" thing she wore ….perhaps he could use that as the catalyst to push her over the edge. The sooner she was safe from Arthion's misguided intentions, the better. He did not relish the thought of a war with the Elves. Would he, if it came to that?... He refused to answer that question.

Jareth tilted his head to the side and deliberately stepped closer to Sarah, occupying her personal space. She stepped back, feeling behind her for the wall or hallway opening. She may hate him for what he was about to do, but it was necessary to save both of them from…. _unpleasant_ circumstances. "You malign me once again by scorning my gift, Sarah," he spouted accusingly, leaning over her and causing her to look up further to meet his eyes.

She crossed her arms and attempted to regain her composure and her ground. She'd spent too many years cringing in terror. "To be fair," her voice wavered slightly, "you didn't say anything about wearing other things with the costume." Somewhere in the recesses of Jareth's mind, he was grinning at her defiance. _Well played, Sarah._ Dove-gray leather-covered fingers rose quickly towards her throat. She gasped and winced, sure that he was going to do something horrible to her, though she did not regret the small act of defiance. She heard the diaphanous, jewel-like material of his surcoat move against itself as he lifted his arm….and grasped the bodice. "No female; _fae, mortal, or otherwise_ , who accompanies me will be seen in such a thing," he decreed.

As she looked up from wincing, she saw that the bodice hung limply between his fingers as if he were holding a dead animal. Sarah gasped and looked down at the costume covering her chest, knowing what she would find. The bodice was gone from under the costume. She glared at him, sparkling green eyes narrowing in anger. Jareth internally cursed. He needed her fear to claim his win and keep her from the Yule festivities, not her anger.

"You have no _right_ ," she hissed. "You have no _right_ to take any clothes off of me." She poked a finger into his bare chest, under his amulet. "You had no _right_ to take Toby, no _right_ to take time from me, to threaten my friends," her voice swelled to a screeching crescendo, as Jareth remained inches from her, not giving up any of the space he'd gained. "You had no _right_ to dangle my anxieties over a forty-story building. You had no _right_ to fuck up my _life!"_

The bodice disappeared as one side of Jareth's mouth rose into a smirk. He rested one gloved hand against the wall behind her, brought his face to within inches of hers and said very calmly, "You surprise me yet again, Sarah. I was _**so**_ hoping that you would explain how it isn't _**fair.**_ It seems you've learned new words to express the same sentiment." Sarah breathed in sharply, the chains on her back jingling slightly at the intake of breath. _"Fear, Sarah,"_ Jareth willed the thought to her. _"I need your fear, I need you to_ _ **obey**_ _to protect you."_

Almost outside her awareness, her hand arched back and slapped Jareth's face so hard it threw her back into the wall. "Bastard!" she screamed in a voice that wasn't her own, losing all control she'd had over the situation.

The fae part of Jareth immediately urged him to eviscerate her and end the screeching. Something else stopped him. He wasn't sure which force he agreed with. He flicked his wrist and Sarah was no longer able to talk. He bent down and hoisted her over his shoulder. If she was going to act like a child, he would treat her like a child.

A few moments and dimensions later, he dumped her unceremoniously in front of a female goblin and announced, "Ensure she is on the stage near the back of the festivities." He disappeared without another word, leaving Sarah, furious and confused in the midst of a group of humans she didn't know.

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Jareth made his entrance at the Yule festival. The setting was a large clearing on the grounds immediately outside the Goblin Castle, its lights reflecting eerily on the celebration. Boughs of evergreen and specific, auspicious trees were hung throughout the clearing. Immortal kings, queens, and other dimensionals mixed company for the celebration. On the way to the ceremonial bull ring, Jareth encountered Aine. He graciously kissed each of her cheeks in the usual formal greeting, though his thoughts were elsewhere.

After greeting and speaking with several other nobles, including the Elven king, Jareth took his place among the dimensional nobility to oversee the cutting of the bull. As he took his place, his gaze locked with Arthion's. The Elven prince nodded at him across the arena. Jareth stifled a laugh. At least they understood one another.


	17. The Choice Has Been All Yours

**Disclaimer:** I disclaim.

" _You must take your chance boy. The choice has been all yours."_  
― Anthony Burgess, A Clockwork Orange

 **A/N:** Thank you to my beta, tooralooryeaye, who hung in there in spite of the sadness that hit her hometown of Minneapolis in losing the great music icon, Prince.

Props and thanks to the reviewers:  
 **Zayviah:** I know how I would have reacted! Sarah is a better person than I am….ahem…  
 **kellyn1604** : As you previously mentioned, it will border on blowing up in his majesty's face. How fun!  
 **LovelyAmberLight:** (blown away) thank you! Jareth is extremely difficult to write!

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Clusters of oak boughs woven through with holly branches hung on stone walls, trees, and grand tables throughout the clearing outside the Goblin Castle in celebration of the beginning of Yule, and the return of the sun. Leaves of gold and precious jewels had been strategically placed in the foliage, reflecting the flames from the large fire in glints of light and color. A majestic oak tree from the Druid forest had been brought to the celebration with great effort, complete with sprigs of mistletoe intact. Thrones were placed on a circular, raised dais for the rulers of each realm, each throne as different as its associated ruler. In the center of the dais was a sunken ring where the cutting of the bull would take place. Once the ceremony was over, the beings would enjoy feasting on the innumerable delicacies placed on stone and wood tables around the clearing while they observed entertainment on the various stages.

Gods, goddesses, dimensionals, and other beings whose origins had always been a mystery, mingled, preened, schemed, and flirted. Jareth moved gracefully among the other beings, the jewels in his surcoat demanding almost as much attention as the silver and blue streaks in his hair. He automatically wrapped his arm around the waist of one goddess, uttering a silky greeting in another language, then kissed the hand of another, eliciting more than one envious glance from other beings. He made the round of rulers, kissing hands and cheeks, inquiring about building projects, resources, and children. Though effortlessly regal and collected in appearance, his fingers itched to summon a crystal to scry on Esu and Sarah, and to ensure that everything was going according to plan. He sent invisible tendrils of magic to assess what he could of the situation. Esu returned his magic in a wave of sensation that prickled through Jareth's fingers, indicating that everything was in place. Though Sarah could not actually send magic, he sensed her energy, which was giving off waves of anger and fear. _Good._

Jareth reclined into his throne on the dais, the grandest of course, since he _was_ hosting the damned festival. The host ruler taking his or her throne was the sign for the festivities to begin; though the other beings were slow to take their places, as usual. He didn't care for the traditional rituals the dimensionals insisted on practicing, but it was easier to endure them and keep peace. Some of the rituals barely resembled those actually practiced by the ancients, especially those of the Druids. They never left their forest in the protection of the Elven kingdom these days, preferring to use their enigmatic lack of presence as a way to create mystery. They had conferred on Arthion the right to officiate the cutting of the bull, most likely to please the Elven king.

Jareth barely remembered the archaic, mind-numbing lessons he'd had to endure about the Yule festivals as a young fae. Every being in the Underground knew that Yule represented the victory of the Oak King over the Holly King. Jareth couldn't even remember if there had been an actual Oak King. He did, however, remember the significance of the cutting of the bull, which was even older than the ancient myths humans remembered. The god Mithras had hunted, ridden, and exhausted the bull. After the sacrifice, the bull's blood would serve to feed new life. Jareth grimaced, making a mental note to not force his children to learn such useless drivel. At least Loki and his lot had been otherwise engaged. That group was even more dramatic than Jareth, and usually made a heroic attempt to drain his cellars of the best Underground wines.

Impatient for ceremony to begin, the Goblin King caused the great flame to surge and rise upward. The beings took their places, rulers claiming their respective thrones, while their royal subjects and families took their places behind them.

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In the shadows just outside the clearing, Esu leaned against the cool stones of the castle. He knew many of the beings who were in attendance, though he shielded his presence with an energy veil. If any of them knew he was here, they would wonder….and they would know he was here soon enough. He chuckled to himself as he watched the deities and dimensionals take their places on the dais. If nothing else, this little charade had provided him with valuable information about alliances, dalliances, and political intrigue for later use. Apparently, one fae prince from the northern outlands had been spending an inordinate amount of time with one southern fae queen, who was with child. Esu did not normally attend any of the Yule festivals, though he and Jareth had been known to show up unannounced at a few of them and make a duel out of seeing who could "drink the coffers dry."

He flashed a satisfied smile. This latest escapade of Jareth's was just too interesting to pass up. Jareth knew he wouldn't refuse – he was always up for a game at someone else's expense – especially one self-righteous pretty-boy Elf, and Jareth knew it. Though he thought Jareth foolish to become so possessive over a human plaything, the Elf had no business interfering. He had seen Jareth's reaction to Arthion's "gift." So, he knew it would be just as interesting to see Arthion's reaction to Jareth's subterfuge. Not to mention that Jareth was his closest ally in this part of the Underground.

 _Let the games begin._

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The squat goblin woman had begun to organize the dancers on the stage, roughly pulling them into place while muttering "too slow, too slow, too slow!" Sarah stood rigid, arms crossed, mentally ticking off all of the ways she'd heard of to kill supernatural beings, and deciding which ones she would try on the Goblin King. Her icy stare met the shrewish little goblin woman as she approached – and abruptly decided to scurry off in the other direction.

Sarah had taken in her new surroundings after somewhat recovering from being thrown over his _Majesty's_ shoulder, transported across dimensions, and rudely dumped on the ground. The other people in costume appeared to be human, about her age or younger. Most of them didn't speak English, which was just as well because she still could not speak. Every time she opened her mouth in an attempt, nothing came out, and she refused to keep trying, knowing she resembled a fish gasping for air. _Damn him! As if she was a child!_ She had caught a few words of Italian, French, and Spanish that she was familiar with from her curator duties at the museum, but most of it was way out of context from dealing with art exhibits.

At this point, unless something drastic happened, she was fairly certain she wasn't going to have a panic attack. At least, she didn't feel the buzzing, pulling sensations at the back of her mind that indicated a panic attack might be on the horizon. _Thank God._ A slight grin escaped her lips. _Which means I'll win….Hang in there, Williams._ She heard the beings laughing and talking beyond the gauze-like curtain that hid the stage. Some of the voices had a ringing clarity that did not sound human. She could just make out glittering and shadowy moving forms, as well as what looked to be a large fire. Sarah guessed she was back near the labyrinth, since her _babysitter_ appeared to be a goblin. _Back where this all began…_ It seemed too surreal to be back after all those years, as an adult with real problems, and yet she was still being manipulated by the Goblin King – at twenty-eight years old. She had known, _must have known_ , at some point, he would return. She would have laughed if she could make a sound.

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Arthion's purposeful gaze traveled all around the circle of beings, meeting the eyes of each one as he drew his sword. His eyes locked with Jareth's as he raised the blade skyward, the circlet around his brow reflecting the intermittent pulsing of the fairy lights above and around the clearing. His eyes conveyed a message that Jareth understood, knowing the remainder of the company would not. Jareth lounged in his throne, one leg thrown over an armrest, feigning boredom.

The impertinent fool Elf was drawing a symbolism between Jareth and the bull. Arthion's every exaggerated gesture seemed contrived to emphasize the symbolic relationship. The only indication Jareth gave that he received the message was an upraised eyebrow and a mirthless grin that bared pointed canine teeth in a silent warning. With a cry of triumph, never breaking his gaze with the Goblin King, Arthion drove the sword into the unfortunate sacrifice, eliciting bellows of pain and anger from the bull. The only thing that prevented his being trampled and gored was his location on a pedestal that was slightly raised above the animal, the fact that the bull was magically subdued, and Arthion's Elven ability to subtly manipulate the bull's behavior. Jareth's eyes morphed into a liquid black-brown, blotting out the irises and the whites. He imagined Arthion as a small rodent.

Arthion deftly withdrew the sword. The bull's blood dripped down the sword, over the hilt, and down his glove. Pointing the weapon directly at the Goblin King, who was slightly above him on the raised dais, Arthion decreed, "And let us not forget our host." His sure, calm voice echoed throughout the clearing, punctuated by the bull's roaring and thrashing. "Let this sacrifice then remind us of your… _generosity_ , Goblin King." Jareth felt the talons beginning to extend at the ends of his boots as his animal instincts took over. He nodded at Arthion and grinned sardonically, though the grin did not reflect in his black eyes. Jareth forced himself to slow the surge of enraged magic that coursed through him, slowly reversing the effects of the transformation. It would not do to show such lack of control in front of the other beings. Lack of control was weakness. Weaknesses could be used against you. Almost in unison, the crowd of beings released an approving yell of triumph, raising their glasses to the Goblin King.

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Sarah had heard the bellowing of the bull and the victory cry of the crowd, and wondered what was going on behind the wall of gauze. Suddenly, the irritating female goblin began rushing around the stage, yelling "It's time! It's time!" Sarah felt herself being pulled into position, kneeling on the stage in the opening pose of the dance. As the gauze-like curtain evaporated, and music began to play, Sarah stole a furtive glance around her. She noted the familiar stone walls of the Goblin Castle illuminated by the fairy lights and the sizable fire. She was indeed near the labyrinth. That thought did cause a little anxiety. She also noticed a bevy of tables covered with exotic-looking fruits and pastry-like desserts. But the most striking observation for Sarah was the multitude of glamorous and bizarre-looking beings that milled around the tables and stood in small groups socializing. They _all_ possessed some kind of ethereal grace, like Jareth. Some of them led what she assumed were humans by jewel-encrusted chains. At least she wasn't one of _them_. Sarah sighed deeply as she felt her muscles contracting and stretching in the moves of the dance. She would much rather have been tasting those wonderful desserts and drinking the wine.

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Jareth was engaged in conversations with the other rulers and deities, aware of everything that was happening in his field of vision, especially aware of Arthion's movements. At present, the Goblin King was expertly extricating himself from the grasp of a somewhat inebriated minor goddess, who was extolling the "queenly" virtues of her daughter. Arthion stepped beside her, bowing slightly, "The lovely Flidais," he nearly sang. "It is a definite pleasure." The goddess giggled as Arthion turned to Jareth. "Goblin King," he nodded, "Did you enjoy my… _gift_?" Jareth regarded him with a practiced stare of indifference and quipped, "What need have I for a human collar? Should I be expecting a human to go with it? Such a pity to have half a gift." Arthion flashed a full-lipped smile. "Even more of a pity to torture a poor mortal woman for completing your labyrinth." Jareth ignored the jab and took a calculated step closer to Arthion, looking down at his nose at the prince. "I will take your suggestion to keep a pet under advisement. The gods know we need more amusements." Arthion smiled knowingly and bowed, moving towards the dancer's stage. Jareth continued to track the Elven pest's movements without appearing to be watching him.

Arthion stepped beside his father at the dancer's stage, clasping his hands behind his back, lips curved into a satisfied smile. This night he would take the Goblin King's human plaything from him, save her in the process, and procure for himself an enviable specimen for a pet. It was a good night. He breathed deeply, closing his eyes at the refreshing scent of the cool night air, and his impending victory over the self-obsessed Goblin King…..which would begin the king's descent from the Goblin throne. He'd never understood why the hideous little miscreants needed their own king. Perhaps it was time to add to the Elven realm.

"Pretty thing, isn't she?" the Elven King asked, stroking his white beard and nodding towards the slim human dancer with long, dark chestnut hair. Arthion chuckled and glanced at the girl. "Yes, she is," he agreed. "I intend to take her as a pet."

The king ceased stroking his beard and stared into space, as if he saw a scene playing out before him. "And Jareth agrees?" he inquired. "From what I understand, he is quite particular about the human dancers, and goes to great lengths to procure them." Arthion crossed his arms and snorted. "Through trickery and deceit, father; trickery and deceit."

The king considered his son briefly. "Starting a war over a human pet is not wise," he warned, "even with a minor kingdom, and especially.." he leaned closer to Arthion to prevent being overheard, "with that unpredictable fae."

Arthion narrowed his glass-like green eyes and smiled benevolently at his sire. "Do not worry, father. I will proceed with caution." The king grunted and waved his hand at his son as if to dismiss him. "See that you do," he warned. He ambled off to find his queen.

It was nearly time. Arthion knew the steps of the dance, and knew that Sarah would be passing near the corner of the stage soon. Elves did not have power to transport other beings. He would have to collar her quietly, and ferry her back to the Elven kingdom on his horse, a two hour journey. And if Jareth tried to stop him…well, he had procured some magic from the Druids to prepare for such a scenario. He noted that Jareth was currently engaged in a conversation with a dark-headed fae from the outlying regions of the dimension. His father had disappeared into the revelers. Most of the other guests were dancing or gathered in groups, propped on pillows, swilling generous amounts of Underground wine, and generally carousing. Normally, he would be right in the midst of the young dimensionals, preferably with his arms around Aine, but this was more important for the moment. He had caught her disappointed pout more than once after the cutting of the bull. He made a mental note to remedy the pout once his pet was safely hidden away in the Elven castle.

Arthion secured his pale gold hair in a tie at the back of his head in preparation for the hurried exit and long ride back to his kingdom. He leaned casually against a boulder as if simply observing the dancers, one hand tucked in his doublet, stroking the collar. _Closer, my pet…_ Half of his attention was intensely focused on the dance, while the other half admired the woman's snow-like skin and taut, slim graceful legs. Her shoulders nearly glowed in the lights of the festival. He gripped the collar tighter, preparing to launch it towards Sarah's neck and then command the Druid stone to clasp it shut. She lowered herself into a pose of subjugation to the moon, and Arthion snapped into action.

He snatched the collar from his doublet. Holding the end of the chain, he launched the collar expertly at her neck and mentally summoned the power of the stone. A determined scowl on his face, he willed the stone to secure the collar, and then…

He found himself holding the leash to the collar that was fastened around the dark neck of Esu, whose face was set in a mask of rage. Arthion blinked and gasped as he realized who was on the end of the collar. He knew of Esu's prowess in combat, and had no desire to go hand-to-hand with the god. _That sneaky bastard!_ He knew who had orchestrated this farce.

A fairy raced to Arthion and whispered in his pointed ear, just as Esu began to reel him in with the leash. "The girl!" the fairy squeaked, "She is _there_ , sire! It was a trick!" He quickly willed the stone to release the clasp. His expression of shock returned to a determined scowl as he turned in the direction indicated by the fairy – and saw the _real_ woman.

Snatching the chain from Esu's grasp, Arthion sprinted to the other side of the stage, once again preparing to launch the collar. A screeching streak of blue and white knocked him to the ground, and he scrambled to right himself, cursing the Goblin King – who was nowhere to be seen when Arthion gathered himself from the ground. Esu, however, was still there.

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Sarah had just noticed a disturbance out of the corner of her eye as she was raising her arms to bend backwards and touch the ground in a semblance of the death of the summer sun. Before she could blink, she felt a cool rush of air and warm arms surround her waist, pulling her upward as she was lifted from the stage and transported between dimensions. The sensation reminded her of a small animal being scooped up by a bird of prey. As the dizzying effect of cross-dimensional travel subsided and she felt her feet stumble onto solid ground, she realized she was staring at a fair-skinned, angular collar bone, and, that she was back in the Labyrinth. _What? That was cheating. He'd taken her time – again!_

Jareth leisurely crossed his arms and slowly circled Sarah for at least a minute. "You…." he stated accusingly, advancing towards her, one black gloved finger pointing accusingly in her direction. Sarah called to mind the original Escher room, and a song that had a hauntingly similar message. Suddenly, she noted that he had changed into the same black leather outfit that he'd worn at the time, and then again when he'd crashed back into her life. "Always manipulating the situation and those around you to suit your purposes," he accused, dropping his arm and planting himself back in front of her. She could see the anger in the set of his jaw, his muscles tensing as if ready to attack some hapless prey….or person.

Sarah's cheeks flamed at the accusation."Oh, no, Goblin King! This is not my fault. It's all you, _Jareth_ ," she retorted. "You took my brother to begin with!"

He met her critical stare. "You used my subjects to complete my Labyrinth."

She crossed her arms and planted herself firmly in front of him. "You didn't say I couldn't, you cheater! You took my time away!"

He sighed, as if exasperated by her ignorance. "It's _my_ Labyrinth, Sarah. I took your brother as requested. It was _merciful_ of me to allow you to try and win him back."

"You took twelve years of my life!"

He smirked. "Oh _Sarah_ , _Sarah_ , _Sarah_. I had no power over you, remember? I could do nothing directly to your person – until you agreed to the new deal."

"You misrepresented the deal."

"Do not attempt to use your pitiful human logic on me. I have no obligation to you. You did not complete the thirteen hours at the festival."

"Because _you_ took me!"

"Enough!" he bellowed, summoning a crystal and hurling it at the stone wall, where it violently shattered. Sarah jumped, fearful of being cut by one of the shards, but none of them touched her. She absently noted that they were in the Labyrinth.

White-hot anger shot through her body in a current, leaving a tingling feeling in the tips of her fingers. A banshee-like shriek cut through the air as Sarah launched herself at Jareth in a blinding wave of anger. She had no plan. She just knew that she needed to hurt this vain, self-absorbed monster for all of the pain he'd caused her. If she could just rip out some of that white, feathery hair, or slap his face, or even just tear his pretty outfit...

His face revealed no expression as she reached him and made a grab for his throat. He caught her wrists expertly in black gloved hands, but her momentum forced them both to the ground. When the dust settled, he was sitting with his back against the labyrinth wall, hands still wrapped in a vice-like grip around her wrists. Sarah was sitting on his thighs, her scraped knees resting on either side of his hips. She looked down at her precarious position in shock, then looked back up to the Goblin King's face. Though her hair had partially fallen in front of her face in the scuffle, she perceived the dangerous glint in his eyes, though his thin lips betrayed nothing.

Affected by an unfamiliar, primal instinct that linked strong emotions such as lust and hate, she glanced down at his lips and then snapped her gaze back to his eyes. _Oh no…_ It was too late. He had seen the "tell" that betrayed what she was thinking at that moment. He smirked knowingly, cautiously releasing her wrists and moving his hands down to her bare waist, holding her gaze as if she were a wild animal that would turn on him at any moment. She felt the silky, electric touch of skin on skin as his hands rested above her hips. The fact that his hands were bare caught her attention, and she wondered when he had removed his gloves. She remained frozen for a moment, as did Jareth. She wondered what he was thinking, as one hand traveled up her hip to her back, causing him to lean forward slightly, his cheek slightly brushing hers.

 _NO! Don't do this!_ _ **Don't**_ _do_ _ **this**_ _!_ Her brain fired off warning shots as she registered that the delicate chains on her back were being slowly unfastened. With each loosened chain, she felt his hand graze the skin of her back, triggering slight shockwaves that were not unpleasant. Exhausted from the consuming anger and exertion from dancing, she ignored the warning shots and gave in to the warm, secure feeling of his arms around her. She released the clasps on his black leather doublet and ran her hands under it, preparing to slide it off his shoulders, leaning in towards Jareth's smooth white neck to add his intoxicating scent to the mixture of senses that were causing the tingling down her spine.

"Sarah, that would have been quite helpful in removing your chains," he teased, musing at the metaphorical association. "Shhh!" she commanded into his neck. "Don't ruin it."


	18. That's What I Meant to Say or Do

**Disclaimer:** In my dreams, where the misty air smells of enchanted earth, the leaves sparkle like jeweled fans, and DB is forever singing and dancing, I own it. I do. But…alas...

 _Stay -_ _that's what I meant to say or do_ _something  
But what I never say is  
stay this time  
I really meant to so bad this time  
'Cause you can never really tell  
When somebody wants something you want too_  
― David Bowie, Stay

 **A/N:** This is the end. Thanks to everyone who read or will read.

Props and thanks to those who reviewed! I hope this story ignited your imagination or was just interesting, or at least helped you to fall asleep! This chapter is un-beta'd – all my grammar and punctuation weirdness is not her fault. XD

Just a reminder…this story is rated T. Was terrified to try for citrus out of the gate!

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Jareth sat perched in an arched window of his throne room, one leg propped on the ledge, arms crossed, staring out at the Labyrinth, barely visible in the darkness except where fairies or torches illuminated sections of wall. His eyes were focused on nothing – his attention was drawn to his thoughts. The din of the festival was dying down, though he barely noticed. He hadn't even reappeared to see his guests off. He knew that omission would just add fodder to the nonsense the elders spouted about the rogue Goblin King – he didn't care.

There were few times in Jareth's long life when he had been completely speechless. The first time had been when he'd learned to transform into an owl and had flown nearly across the entire Underground, feeling the power of mastering the wind, terrorizing hapless creatures with his talons, and diving for the kill. The other two times had been because of _Sarah Williams_ , and one of those instances had not been unpleasant.

He had exorcised most of his anger against her. He had tortured her because she had defied him; no – rejected him. He could have killed her easily – she'd been completely bare and vulnerable before him. He could have extended the torture he'd begun to exact all those years ago. But he hadn't.

He conjured a crystal and began to relive the past few hours he had spent with Sarah, using the image to recall the sensations that he'd felt so intensely. Blue eye dilating to match its twin, he admitted that this was an entirely different form of torture – one he did not want to live without. Anger and lust for vengeance fully slaked, he confessed to himself that what he'd offered all those years ago had been veiled in phrases too daunting for a young human female to consider, too complex for her to understand then. And the Sarah twelve years ago only had the spark of potential to be the Sarah she'd become, even with his…interference.

The image in the crystal dissolved into the images from Sarah's dream crystal. He fixed his gaze intensely on each scene that passed in the crystal. He knew what he had to do. This time, there would be no veiled offerings. The crystal vanished as Jareth launched himself into the night sky of the Underground.

Hoggle ambled down a woodland path towards his hovel, wondering at the night's events. Like many other residents of the Goblin City and the surrounding forests, he had watched the Yule festival unfold from behind the trees surrounding the clearing. He still didn't understand what had happened between the god Esu, and the Elven prince, though their sparring and threats could be heard on the other side of the clearing, erupting through the sounds of laughter and merriment. He thought he'd seen Sarah, but that couldn't be. It must have been a human that resembled her. Anyway, he'd only seen the woman once, and then she had just seemed to disappear. And then there was Jareth, who had seemed to vanish about halfway through the festival as well – at least, Hoggle had only caught sight of him twice after the cutting of the bull. As the dwarf meandered down the path, considering the strange things he'd witnessed, an earsplitting screech erupted directly above him, and he felt his hat being separated from his head as he clapped his lumpy hands over his ears to block out the sound. The owl swooped back towards the sky, releasing the hat over a dark pond further down the path. "Damn you, Jareth!" Hoggle shook his fist in the air and began hurrying towards the pond where his favorite hat had been freed. When the owl was no longer in sight, the dwarf could be heard to mumble something that sounded like "bat-shit crazy fae," though he would _never_ admit it.

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Sarah swiveled her smart, white leather office chair to face the windows in her new office, lost in thoughts of long, slender fingers caressing the back of her neck, moving upwards into her hair. She replayed their last meeting in her head for the hundredth time that day, as she did every day…for the past month. Her last encounter with the Goblin King. The _Goblin King_.

After they had spent a few unbelievable hours together, she'd woken up in her tiny bed again. They had said very little. She shivered involuntarily at the thought of his lean, muscular form brushing against her stomach, her thighs, and other parts of her.

In the few days after she'd returned to the museum, everything had changed. Val had been promoted to an executive position, and had recommended Sarah to backfill her position. The cabinet had decided to present Sarah with an award for her work on _Cells_. That was a surprise, and had to be an intervention, given the horrible fiasco that she remembered at the Masquerade Gala – apparently, she was the only one who remembered it that way, as other staff and even cabinet members gushed at her great success and the generous donation she'd managed to procure from an anonymous donor.

When she'd accepted the award, she had scanned the audience for any sight of _him_ …to no avail. Much to her chagrin, she hadn't seen him since the festival and wondered if he hadn't found the experience as pleasurable as she had. His responses had indicated otherwise.

 _What are you doing?_ He tortured you. He isn't even human. She knew from the look in his eyes that she'd tortured him too. They had met on equal ground, both with much to lose – protective, hesitant, needing. God, she wanted to see him again. She didn't even care if it was to loom above her in a semblance of other-worldly terror.

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 _Later that evening…_

Leaning her head back against the cool brick of the apartment building, Sarah sat cross-legged on her favorite cushion out on the fire escape, encased in a thick, cable sweater, wine glass in hand. All that had happened – the promotion, the award, all of it had been in her dream crystal that Jareth had offered during the confrontation in the new, _weirder_ , version of the Escher room. All of it, except the man…on the balustrade…with his hand on the small of her back. Did this mean he had relinquished her dreams to her? Was it a white flag? _Good one, Sarah, but doubtful._

Maybe it was all her confidence, her doing, or a little of both? _Why_ hadn't he appeared to her again? _Why, dammit!?_

She gazed over the twinkling lights of the city, and then back down to her empty glass.

"Beautiful night, isn't it?" a familiar voice drawled below her. She froze instinctively for a moment, one side of her mouth rising in a smirk. Sarah shifted forward onto her knees, pushed her hair out of her face with one hand, and looked down to the fire escape below.

An angular, chiseled face, framed by wisps of blond hair gazed back at her. The black leather outfit only served to highlight his features against the dingy brick of the apartment building.

"Goblin King," she stated simply, mouth breaking into a smile. She inhaled sharply, the electricity of the winter night air suddenly sharper than before.

"Sarah." He gazed up at her, uneven eyes glinting in anticipation. Sarah couldn't restrain the smile even though she wanted to, even though she wanted to demand to know why he hadn't appeared before now.

"Look Sarah," he compelled her, suddenly appearing beside her on the fire escape. "I've brought you – a gift." Expecting to see yet another crystal, Sarah glanced down to see a bottle of Underground wine in one gloved hand, and two golden goblets in the other. She met his eyes again, never losing her smile.

Jareth mentally exhaled at her reaction, expecting more anger, drama, something…but was pleased to find Sarah, in control of her life, her dreams. "May we begin again?" he smirked.

Sarah suddenly realized she had no doubt of the identity of the man with his hand on the small of her back in the dream crystal.


End file.
